


To Me, the World

by Drakanin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Asexual Character, Background Relationships, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, FakeHaus, M/M, Magic, Romance, background Mavinseg, magic fake ah crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 148,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakanin/pseuds/Drakanin
Summary: It's no secret that Ryan is crushing hard on his friend. He and Ray had been close for years, and there was no one he'd rather hang out with. But when a mishap involving members of a rival gang at the carnival reveals who Ray really is, Ryan finds himself pulled into a whirlwind of crime and magic. Worst of all, he might not even want to leave it.





	1. In Which It's Totally Not a Date, Bro

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd finish my mutant AU before posting this. But this is... different circumstances. I am prioritizing the mutant AU until it is finished, but the first chapter of this story was done, and I feel like I need to give SOMETHING. May the first 3.6k words of this fic distract and entertain you.
> 
> 2016 American Elections statement:  
> For the record, this is posted the day after Donald Trump won the American presidency. This is relevant information only to the author's note, and not to the story itself. Still, it is the reason I say that you are all precious to me, and we are strong. I hope that in the future I will see that my fears were for naught, and I can go back and delete this part of the note with a sound mind. As it stands now, though, be strong. Help where you are able, whether it is donating money, volunteering time, or just helping an old lady cross the street. No one election can take away your kindness, nor can it take away the fact that over half this country voted against this outcome.  
> You are valid. Your emotions are valid. Take time for yourself. Be strong, be safe, be good.

Humidity throttled the air over the carnival where it sprawled across flat land just before the foothills near the northern edge of Los Santos. What was normally an expanse of waving grass and dirt was now tramped and home to stalls and pens and wandering entertainers and a temporary chain-link fence. Clouds hung overhead, threatening to rain but never following through. A brisk breeze occasionally brought relief, but it was lost among the carnival.

The crowd thronged in the choking humidity as bells rung and tunes chimed, victories for some at game stalls. Tickets got you fried food and funnel cakes, games and face painting, and rides on the small crappy rollercoasters, as well as entry to the sparse tents housing spectacular acts. A Ferris wheel loomed above it all, shittier than the one on the docks down south but with a new view.

This part of the city—or rather, this part of the outskirts—was a natural magic dead zone, which suited the carnival well with its cheap and difficult games. The city had artificial dead zones all over—places like corporate conference rooms, and jail holding cells—but none covered nearly as much ground as a natural dead zone.

This might bother some people, like those heavily reliant on magic, but it didn’t bother Ryan. He didn’t use magic, didn’t even know if he could. He had gone three decades never feeling the feelings other reported, and didn’t worry that he was a part of the majority.

Ryan had little interest in going to the carnival. The sizeable affair came twice every summer to the city, and Ryan had never felt any desire to go throughout his years here. Only children could enjoy those coasters, and those games were rigged to make you lose anyway. He would normally want to spend his money on something he’d actually enjoy.

But _Ray._ Ray had invited him out, and had seemed really excited. Ryan couldn’t say no. Not when he would be spending the whole afternoon with _Ray._ Ray had insisted on it being his treat as well, and though he always struck Ryan as not being very rich, Ryan was recently out of a job. He wasn’t going to argue about it much. Plus… it was kind of cute to be doted on.

Ryan met Ray just outside the fairgrounds. The young man was leaning against a spindly tree near the ticket booth. As always, he wore his iconic purple hoodie, carnival tickets sticking out of a pocket. It might have been spring, and it might be humid as fuck, but the temperature was still cool enough that long sleeves wouldn't be uncomfortable.

Ray raised his head as Ryan called out to him, and Ryan saw that he was holding a soft parcel wrapped in brown paper. Ray held it out to him as Ryan approached, and tossed it into Ryan’s arms when he was close enough. Something clinked inside, muffled by the rest of the contents.

At Ryan’s questioning eyebrow, Ray said, “Uhh, happy birthday.”

“Try again.”

“Merry Christmas?”

“Dude.”

Ray shrugged and grinned. “Happy got-laid-off-and-are-spending-the-day-with-a-super-cool-friend day, then.”

Ryan chuckled. “I suppose.” Being with Ray and laughing at his dumb jokes, getting laid off didn’t seem so bad. Now if only he could figure out the time and the words to _tell_ Ray that. Without being corny, anyway.

He ripped off the brown paper, tossing the scraps to Ray, who balled them up and shoved them in a pocket. Ryan gasped, holding the gift up. It was a leather jacket, mostly black with blue shoulders and white stripes on the upper sleeves and near the cuffs. It looked expensive and well made.

“ _Ray_ ,” Ryan breathed. “You shouldn’t have spent so much on me.”

Ray waved his hands. “Don’t worry about _my_ money,” he said. “I’m not the one who got fired. Check the inside pockets.”

Ryan raised his eyebrow again, but he couldn’t stop the smile that was tugging at his lips. Ray stepped close as Ryan pulled out a case of…

“Throwing knives?” Ryan asked quietly, his eyes going wide.

“The best I could find,” Ray said, watching Ryan’s face. “You said you taught yourself to throw them in college and wondered if you still could. Do you—like them?”

“ _Like_ them…” Ryan replaced the case of knives and threw out his arms for a hug. Ray grinned and stepped into the embrace, allowing Ryan’s arms to fold around him. “I _love_ them. Thank you. This is all very sweet of you.”

Ray stepped back and tugged on Ryan’s arm. “Come on, enough fucking around—I want to see the carnival. Did you know I’ve lived in Los Santos my whole life and I’ve never gone?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice,” Ryan said, folding the jacket over his arm and allowing himself to be led. And by once or twice, he meant a dozen times in the past week alone. Ray was beaming, his whole face lit up by his enthusiasm.

Ray wanted to try everything at least once. He and Ryan each tried a strongman game, swinging the sledgehammer onto the large button in a vain attempt to ring the bell. Ryan went first, and hit the slider maybe a third of the way up. Ray passed him with a saunter, slipping the carnival attendant two tickets and taking the hammer from Ryan.

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” he said. Ryan raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Go ahead,” Ryan said. “I wanna see you try.”

Ray planted his feet in front of the button, heaved the sledgehammer over his head, and slammed it down. The slider jumped up maybe five inches. Ray’s mouth twisted into a frown as he let the attendant take back the hammer. He stuck his tongue out at Ryan, who was laughing.

“It’s rigged,” he said.

“Yeah, your noodle arms would have otherwise rung the bell, in any _decent_ establishment.”

Ray giggled and grabbed Ryan’s wrist, tugging him along to the next site. Ray shelled out ten dollars for sticky blue cotton candy, packaged neatly in a plastic bag and instantly covering their fingers with sugar. They wandered, threading through the crowd together as they finished off their shared treat, and then retreated to the bathroom to wash the stickiness off their hands.

Ray challenged Ryan to every game he could—even the ones where it technically wasn’t one-vs-one. Ray was a difficult opponent, though Ryan was not surprised. He had played video games and arcade games with Ray, and though he could hold his own, Ray almost always won. These carnival games were no different. Ryan beat him at the dart throwing game, popping more balloons than Ray. The water gun game was a close one, but Ray snapped to the target _that_ much faster than Ryan, and that was all the advantage he needed to win.

Whether Ryan won or not, he ended up holding all the prizes. A pink rubber duck; two paper roses; a soft round pig the size of Ryan’s palm; and a large purple dragon made of scratchy, cheap fabric with its plastic pellet stuffing already peeking out of its seams. This last creature he gave to an ogling child, who screamed her thanks as her mother dragged her away. The paper roses had flimsy wires in their stems, and they both attempted to secure one to a wrist with _technically_ successful results. The pig passed between them frequently, but Ryan kept the rubber duck in his pocket. He liked the duck. It was cute.

Ray convinced him to partake in other activities as well. Ray handed over tickets to get Ryan a caricature done by an artist, though refused to join in on the picture. He somehow persuaded Ryan to get facepaint and stand in a line with children and parents. Ray told the artist what design to do, grinning all the while, and Ryan didn’t see anything but the artist reaching for red, black, and white paint.

And even after that, they stepped into a tent with a bunch of knickknacks like masks, hats, wigs, and other souvenirs. They tried on several masks together, picking up matching _horrifying_ anime girl masks and laughing at each other. Ryan put on an Uncle Sam hat and demanded Ray join the army, an action that threw Ray into a giggling fit. Ryan wished he could take pictures of these memories, but… Well, Ray was always so photo shy, and could _always_ tell when Ryan was trying to sneak a photo. Once, Ray had almost broken Ryan’s phone when he thrust his hands out to block the picture.

Ryan picked up one mask, and Ray’s face grew serious.

“Holy shit,” said Ray. “Ryan, I will pay you to get that mask.”

“What, _this?_ ” It was a black skull, and Ryan slipped it on, careful not to smudge his face paint. His voice was muffled by the skull’s rubber teeth. “You want me to wear this? ‘ _Alas, poor Yorick…_ ’”

“ _Yes._ ” Ray grinned. “You, wearing something so creepy. It doesn’t fit at all. It’s perfect.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and shrugged. How could he say no to a request like that? Coming from Ray?

Finally, a mask purchase, funnel cake, and bathroom break later, Ray started dragging Ryan towards the Ferris wheel. Ryan grimaced, but didn’t argue. He thought Ferris wheels were boring. They were slow and you saw a good scene but you were up there for so long that you didn’t need to see it anymore. Besides, it was cloudy, and even if the view was normally worth it, that alone would severely impact visibility. But Ray seemed really excited about it. So Ryan stood in line with him and waited.

The multicolored carts rocked gently as the Ferris wheel cycled, never stopping (except for the occasional grandmother who could not move fast enough). The carts had no doors, but windows curved around the openings. They clambered into a red cart as it swung slowly through, and Ray took a seat on the bench across from Ryan.

Ray flashed a smile at Ryan, a smile that scrunched up his eyes and rounded his cheeks, before he turned his gaze out the window. He kicked his legs like a child, his hands pressed against the bench as he stared. The cart rocked them higher, lifting them above the carnival.

“Isn’t it such a cool view?” Ray said. They were rotating to the top of the wheel.

Ryan glanced out the cart. The clouds and humidity meant they couldn’t see very far. “I guess?”

“No, man, look.” Ray pressed the tip of a finger against the window. “The whole crowd milling below us. The whole _carnival_ is below us. You can see the little boy over there drop his soda. You can see the group of teenagers loitering in a circle. You can see a man with his date getting distracted by a performer as they wait in line, and they’re letting a gap open in front of them ‘cause they’re not noticing the line moving.”

Ryan looked again and finally saw what Ray saw. He was taken aback by the size, by the activity. The sight wasn’t in the foothills or the surrounding area—it was in the people. Buzzing around, chattering. It reminded Ryan of his place in the universe as something small, something that was a part of a much larger something. Awe, he felt.

Ray gasped a shuddering gasp, and in the blink of an eye he had hunkered down in his seat, putting his head below the window. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat.

“What?” he asked. “What is it?”

Ray shook his head. His face had suddenly gone pale. “No, no, _no._ I can’t believe they’re _here_ ,” he moaned. “Why are they here? Why _now?_ ”

“Ray,” Ryan breathed. “Who’s here? Please—you’re freaking me out.”

Keeping his head below the window, Ray jabbed his finger at the wall of the cart, as though he could point through solid metal. “There’s two men and a woman in the crowd down there. Can you see them? The woman’s got long blonde hair, and she’s with two beefcakes.”

Ryan scanned the crowd, but he couldn’t pick apart all the different people from up here. Their cart passed the peak of the wheel, and they started their long descent. “Ray, that’s too vague, I can’t see them.”

Ray cursed under his breath. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, his words nearly tripping over each other. “I can’t risk peeking another look at their location. I think they know I’m here—I think they _followed me_.”

Ryan’s hands couldn’t stop shaking. Ray’s distress was affecting him. He clenched his hands into fists to try to stop their trembling, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He took a few steadying breaths. He had to start from the top.

“Why do you think they’re following you?” Ryan asked. “They might not be here for you—how likely would that be?”

Ray squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. He was bunched up small on the seat, curled up like a frightened child. “I—I guess they might not be, but I can’t take that risk. _Fuck,_ I’m so—I’m so _fucking unprepared._ I don’t have anything— _anything_! Fuck me!”

“We’ll leave, then,” Ryan said. “We’ll—we’ll get off the Ferris wheel and leave the carnival.”

Ray’s eyes snapped open, and his stare seemed to pin Ryan to the back of his seat.

“I’m going to need your help,” Ray said quietly. Some other emotion had taken over, and he had regained control of his tone. “You don’t have to do much. They don’t know you and they don’t care about you. Just get off the ride normally, maybe hover at the side. I’ll escape out the other side of the cart.”

“Is that all?” Ryan asked. “Are you—gonna be okay?”

“Who knows,” Ray said, and fear hit Ryan like a truck on a highway. It sounded like he was in danger of losing him. “Once you get off, you can head to the exit, outside the dead zone. I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can, though I—I might have to leave. For a little while.”

Ryan forgot to speak for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “Right, okay. I’ll—I’ll do that. You’ll—be careful?”

“I’m always careful,” Ray said darkly. His eyes seemed flat and black, now, and Ryan was struck mute by the seriousness in Ray’s tone. He sensed, for the first time, that Ray could actually be _dangerous_ if he wanted to—or needed to. Or… _was_ it the first time he sensed this? It felt like such a familiar feeling, but he couldn’t remember ever _feeling_ it before. It was a sense of déjà vu, and he was without a clear memory to grasp onto for comparison.

“Ryan.”

With a jolt, Ryan realized he had been staring at Ray. He glanced out the window. They were reaching the ground again, and soon they would have to get off. The wind had picked up, and Ryan felt the first sprinklings of rain on his hands and exposed arms.

“Hopefully it’s a false alarm,” Ryan said.

“Hopefully,” said Ray.

Ryan stood up and braced himself at the cart’s opening, lifting one arm to grab its edge, the other arm carrying his new jacket and mask. He waited there as the ground swung ever closer. When the cart was low enough to hop off of, he hesitated and waited until he heard Ray unfold from his seat and slip out behind him. Then and only then did he get off. The carnival employee shooed him away so the next group could clamber onto his cart. If the employee noticed Ray escape out the other way, he didn’t care.

Ryan rolled his shoulders and started for the carnival’s exit. Not ten paces away from the Ferris wheel, as he wove through the clumping crowd, Ryan passed the people Ray must have seen. The woman was small, but hard muscles lined her exposed arms, and her pale eyes glared at Ryan as he passed. One of the men she was with also looked like he lifts on the regular, and wore the shorts and shirt to show it off. His eyes were large and brilliant blue in his narrow face, his short brown hair sweeping up from his forehead. The last man walked a few steps ahead of the other two, as though leading them, and his short dark beard matched his tousled hairstyle. Notably, he had a thin tattoo circling his forearm.

The men and woman passed Ryan without a second glance, but Ryan stopped to watch them. A sinking feeling sat in his gut like poison as they pushed through the crowd towards the Ferris wheel. Were they really looking for Ray? Did Ray get away okay?

On impulse, Ryan tailed them. He knew he shouldn’t. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn around, to leave it alone, to have faith that Ray would get away. But he also couldn’t stand the thought of waiting. He trembled. He couldn’t stand the thought of reaching the carnival exit and waiting and waiting for Ray to show.

The three strangers fanned out once they got near the Ferris wheel. After a few seconds, the man who seemed to be the leader made a snappy gesture at the other two, and they split up. Ryan stuck to following the one man with the tattoo, letting the other two disappear into the crowd.

Ryan could taste his heart in his mouth as it pulsed against his throat. What was he _doing?_ He was a single, unarmed man trailing after three potentially very dangerous people—if Ray was right. If it came to a fist fight, he would be finished in seconds, he was sure.

The rain sprinkled down more steadily now. Not hard enough to be called rain for sure, but not weak enough to be ignored. Ryan rolled his shoulders again and heard a muffled clinking from his jacket. Oh—his throwing knives. Ryan took a moment, keeping an eye on his target, as he juggled his carried items and shrugged on his jacket. He patted his pocket to make sure the knives were secure as he kept the man in sight.

The man strolled around the side of a row of game stalls that edged the fence near the Ferris wheel and paused at the back corner, pressing his back against the side of the stall. He touched his ear, as though listening to an ear piece, and then counted a couple seconds with bobs of his head. Then, he stuck his arm out to the side, past the corner, and clotheslined Ray as he tried to dash by. Ray flipped onto his back with hardly a sound, his feet swinging out from under him. The man didn’t even glance around as he slipped around the corner and dragged Ray behind the stalls.

Ryan choked on a yelp. He glanced back at the crowd, but aside from a few suspicious glances at him, no one approached or raised an alarm. He edged along the side of the stall until he was at the back corner where the man had waited, and he listened with strained ears over the roar of his own blood.

Ryan faintly heard the man speak. “Hello, Ray. Thought you could double back and fool us?”

Ryan heard a wheezing sound that had to be Ray. He risked a peek around the edge of the stall, and saw Ray crumpled on the ground massaging his throat. The man had his back to Ryan. A flicker of movement at the other end of the row of stalls startled Ryan, and he ducked back behind the corner.

“And you’re here all alone,” said the man. “I bet you don’t even have a pistol on you.”

“You can’t bring guns to a carnival, _Adam_ ,” Ray wheezed.

“What are you _doing_ here, buddy?” said a feminine voice. The other two had come down from the other way, blocking Ray in. “Why are you here without your friends?”

“What do you _want_ with me,” Ray said.

“We’re gonna chat,” said the first man. “Somewhere more _private_.”

Ryan was frozen to the spot. There was the sound of scuffling, the shuffling of shoes kicking against the grass, grunts, and then the chain-link fence clinked and rattled. Ryan’s fingers curled against the cheap wood of the stall’s side. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and leaned around the corner.

The fence had been cut at some point, and now the wire was bent out, and the three strangers were shoving Ray, dragging him, towards a copse of trees at the top of a nearby foothill. To a casual observer, they were just a group of four people off to a hike, the one in the purple hoodie mostly blocked from view by the other three. But as Ryan watched, the three strangers would take turns shoving Ray forward, and he would stumble, his arms flailing before they were snatched.

Ryan pressed his back against the stall, grabbed his head in both hands and pulled at the roots of his hair. This was too much. Too much. He felt the edges of panic skirt his mind and suck the air from his lungs. Ray had been right. Ray was in danger. He should call the cops. He should—he should get help. He glanced at the passing crowd. People were beginning to flock to available shelters as the rain picked up. He didn’t see anyone, any security that might help. If he wasted too much time, he might lose them in the foothills. He might never see Ray again.

Before he could change his mind, Ryan walked around the corner and slipped out the fence.


	2. In Which Ryan Gets Some Use out of His Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying..........

Ryan sprinted across the narrow expanse of cropped grass to the bottom of the hill, where he ducked into a clump of tall grass. He lay low as one of the strangers paused near the top of the hill, just before they entered the copse of trees, to quickly sweep his gaze over the carnival. Once he saw they weren’t followed, the strangers dragged Ray into the trees. Ray hadn’t shouted for help once, and Ryan wondered how he was feeling, what he was thinking. Ray only seemed to struggle enough to prove he hadn’t given up.

Ryan hesitated, panting and struck by a sudden extra wave of fear. He stared at the mask in his hands, rain running down his face. The mask Ray had bought for him earlier that day. Ryan took three deep breaths, then pulled the mask over his head.

He felt… calmer, wearing the mask. There was a layer of plastic between himself and reality. He stood, squared his shoulders, skirted the edge of the foothill, and began to climb it. He stuck low to the ground and to the patches of tall grasses. His ears strained for every sound of movement, any hint of voices over the gentle static of rain.

Then, amazingly, without being seen, he was in the copse of trees. He had transcended terror and had achieved a fragile composure, like he was balancing on a tightrope and for a moment he was stable. Adrenaline coursed through his limbs and wired his senses. So when a twig snapped near him, and a violent shuffling like a pile of leaves kicked, he leapt up the nearest tree with barely a caught breath.

A man walked underneath his tree a few moments later. It was a new stranger, a young red-head with a baseball cap. He looked bored. His cheeks puffed out occasionally as he sighed and meandered through the trees, patrolling the copse’s perimeter. An assault rifle was cradled lazily in his arms, and he kicked at any loose material he saw.

Ryan let him pass. His gaze never lingered on one spot for too long, but he kept track of the man’s movements. He waited a few beats, and when no one else seemed to be approaching, he dropped out of the tree, the sound of his landing covered up by the rain. He didn’t think he could vocalize a noise even if he wanted to, at this point. If he started speaking, or even grunted, he might lose his balance on his tightrope.

He tailed after the man in the baseball cap, one hand going to his jacket’s pocket. He slipped a knife out of its case and gripped. He tossed it in his hand, letting it flip over as he got a feel for its weight. They really _were_ nice knives. He just hoped he could use them right to rescue Ray. He aimed, and threw.

The knife missed. It embedded in a tree with a resounding _thunk._ Ryan’s heart dropped in his chest. He wavered on his tightrope, his mental self was waving his arms frantically trying to keep balance. The man in the baseball cap jumped at the sound of the knife, and took a few steps towards the tree, leaning in to peer at the knife with a frown.

Ryan dashed for the man, and before the man could react to the sound of his footsteps, Ryan was there, a second knife in his hand. Ryan came up behind the man and slashed at his hands. He didn’t want to do lasting damage; he just wanted to help Ray— _without_ dying. The man in the baseball cap yelped and dropped his assault rifle. The yelp cut off when the knife pressed against his neck and Ryan’s other arm pinned the man against his chest.

Ryan heard a distant voice. “That sounded like Spoole! Someone go check on him!”

Ryan started dragging his hostage towards the sound. The man—Spoole? What weird name—squirmed, but Ryan squeezed tighter, and made sure the tip of his knife was felt. He didn’t have the state of mind to feel bad about this. He was just now starting to realize that he had waded into the deep end and didn’t bring any pool floaties. The man’s bloody hands pulled uselessly at Ryan’s arm. He started dragging the man towards the distant voice.

Near the center of the copse was a clearing. The sky darkened even as Ryan approached, the shadows thickening under the trees as the rain fell harder. Ryan emerged, a black skull mask materializing from the foliage on the wide shoulders of a man, with the stranger named Spoole clutched to his chest and a throwing knife held naturally in his hand. Such an image stopped all movement in the clearing, and there was a moment of horrified pause.

The three strangers from before were there. The beefier man was closest to Ryan, having been on his way to check on Spoole. The woman and the other man were standing over Ray, who had his hands bound behind his back and his ankles lashed together with duct tape. His purple hoodie was covered in dirt and leaves, red bruises were starting to form on his jaw and around his eye, and his lip was bleeding. He stared at Ryan, his eyes as wide as they could go, as he lay perfectly still. Ryan thought he saw him mouth something, something that seemed like _no_ , but his attention was on the three strangers in front of him.

The man and woman standing over Ray didn’t seem to have any guns, but the man in front of Ryan raised his arm. Ryan didn’t stop to think, didn’t stop to see if there was actually anything _in_ the man’s hand, he just whipped the knife at him. He had aimed for the man’s hand, force him to drop whatever he was holding, but the knife went too high and buried in the man’s upper arm. The man cried out and dropped a black pistol, staggering back. Ryan scooted forward with his hostage and kicked the gun away, a new knife already in his hand.

“James!” shouted the woman. She bared her teeth at Ryan, but didn’t move.  “Who the fuck you think you are?” she hissed.

Ryan’s breath rattled in his throat. He forgot how to speak. He pressed the tip of his knife against his hostage’s jugular, then gestured with it at Ray. James by now had yanked the knife out, tossed it on the grass, and had stumbled back to the woman.

“A trade…” said the other man. Ryan decided this was probably who Ray had called “Adam.”

Ryan nodded. His knife never wavered, never trembled.

“You think we’re stupid?” James snarled, a hand pressed against his wound. Blood seeped between his fingers. _Ryan had done that._ Every nerve ending was alive. He heard every raindrop, saw every twitch of leaf and body. “We’ll overpower you. Even without Spoole it’s three-to-one, we’ll…”

James took a step forward, and Ryan pressed the blade of his knife against his hostage’s neck again. Spoole tried to arch away from its edge, though there was nowhere for him to go. James stopped as the woman gasped, “No!”

“It’s not worth it,” Adam said, and James retreated, scowling. Adam narrowed his eyes at Ryan. “Ray here doesn’t have the information we need anyway. Or at least he’s a stubborn little prick about it. We’ll exchange him and stop wasting our time. On one condition.”

It was Ryan’s turn to narrow his eyes, though he wasn’t sure how well his eyes could be seen through the mask.

“You take off the mask.”

“Don’t,” Ray whispered.

Ryan took the knife away from Spoole’s throat and looked Adam dead in the eye as he took off the mask. He tossed the rubber skull to the grass and glared at the three strangers in front of him. James rolled his eyes, Adam cursed, and the woman merely sighed.

“Face paint,” said Adam in a defeated tone. “Clever.”

Adam stepped over Ray and bent down, ripping the duct tape around his ankles and hoisting him up. When Ray was on his feet, Adam shoved him towards Ryan. Ray caught himself and stumbled across the clearing. Only when Ray was nearby, and the other three had gone to the other side of the clearing, their hands raised above their heads, did Ryan release his hostage.

Spoole sprinted across the clearing, and Adam and the woman reached out their arms to him and disappeared into the foliage in the direction of the carnival. James paused before following, paused long enough to say, “This isn’t the last time you’ll see us, you— _vagabond._ ” Then he, too, disappeared.

“They’re gone, I think,” Ray said. He was panting slightly. Ryan wasted no time in using his knife to slice the duct tape off of Ray’s wrists. Ray massaged a bruise on his jaw as he jogged to pick up the discarded pistol and bloodied knife. “They’re probably gonna stick around in the dead zone. They can overpower us in here. I can’t believe you fucking _did_ that!”

Ryan’s hands shook so bad he almost couldn’t make his fingers curl around his discarded mask. He thought if he started speaking he might break down completely.  He needed a few moments to breathe.

Ray handed Ryan the knife and slid the pistol into his hoodie pocket. Ray was surprisingly calm. Ryan lost himself in his flat, black eyes as Ray stepped up to him, reached up to pat his cheek. He didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about his black eye, or the bruise blooming across his jaw, or the blood on his split lip.

“Ryan,” Ray said. “You in there, buddy?”

Ryan reluctantly nodded.

“We need to get moving,” Ray said. “In case they change their mind.” He paused, as though waiting for Ryan to respond. He sighed. “Walk with me. We have to get out of the dead zone. This way.”

Ryan obediently followed Ray back into the trees. They passed the tree Ryan’s first knife had lodged in, and Ryan was able to retrieve it. As he wriggled the knife out of the bark and replaced it into his pocket, the full realization of what had just transpired slammed into Ryan full force. He walked quickly to keep up with Ray’s fast pace, and found his voice again.

“Oh God, Ray,” Ryan babbled. Ray didn’t slow his stride, but watched Ryan as they descended the hill. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, and—God—what horrible people, Ray, I’m so glad you’re alive, I—I don’t know what I would have done if…”

“Ryan.”

The ground evened out. They headed deeper into the foothills. Ryan’s heartbeat shook his entire body.

“And they’re still out there, and honestly, I’ve never been so—so scared for you, for me. God, I—fuck—I…”

“ _Ryan._ ”

Ray had stopped walking. Ryan’s words strangled off as he met Ray’s eyes again. Ray only moved to close the distance between them. Ryan couldn’t seem to decide what emotion to feel, what expression to wear. He panted through parted lips, stared hopelessly at Ray, his heart ramming in his throat.

“You did good,” Ray said. “I’m fine, thanks to you. And I’m sorry for what happens next.”

Ray reached up to touch Ryan’s head.

* * *

 

It was like waking up. One moment, he was walking in the foothills with Ray. The next, he was blinking at the inside of a dark bag, his hands tied behind him and his ankles tied to his hard chair. The fabric of the bag fluttered against his eyelashes and stuck to his lips as he sucked in air to keep up with his racing heart. Where was he? How did he get here? _Why didn’t he remember anything?_

He wriggled and twisted his wrists, the rope rubbing raw on his skin. He debated on whether it would be a good idea to tip the chair. He choked on his air. He couldn’t see anything, so his mind’s eye helpfully supplied him with the image of Ray, tied up and surrounded by those strangers, those… _thugs._ His muscles tensed up, froze. It was happening to him now.

Then he noticed the voices murmuring around him. They mentioned something about a shadow team, hushed as though they didn’t want to wake him. Ryan thought he would black out again. He felt dizzy. His head felt like it was floating.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he jumped so violently that the chair scraped over the floor. He didn’t think his heart could _go_ faster. He was ready to plead for mercy, to beg and grovel—if only his tongue would work, and if only he could make more sounds than that of air squeezing past his teeth.

“Ryan, it’s okay, it’s me. You’re not in any danger.”

Ray’s low voice threaded through the bag. Ryan stopped his struggles, though he still trembled, and his breaths still came in short gasps. He didn’t feel like he wasn’t in any danger—why would he be tied up then?— but he wanted to believe Ray so bad.

“Ray?” Ryan panted. “Wh—where am I? How did I get here?”

“You’re in a safe house.”

“I don’t feel very safe.”

Ray chuckled, but Ryan failed to see the joke.

“It’s a safe house for me—for us.”

Ray removed his hand from Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan felt fingers curl at the top of his head. The bag was whipped off, and Ryan flinched at the sudden light that stabbed his eyes. He blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to adjust faster so he could get his bearings.

“Good God,” someone said. “He’s ugly.”

“It’s just face paint, Jeremy, jeez,” groaned Ray, still at Ryan’s side. “It’s been a long day.”

The best he could tell was that he was in an apartment, and there was no natural light. At the moment, however, his focus was on the four new men in front of him, blocking his view of his new location.

They were vaguely familiar strangers, vague in the way you might know their face from the grocery store, or because they look like a person you went to high school with. Ryan couldn’t place why he might possibly know their faces, from the square jaw of the curly-haired lad, to the young man with a large nose under a fringe of dirty blond hair, to the long red beard of a large man, to the shock of dyed purple hair of a much smaller man.

Then Ryan’s eyes focused on a fifth and last man, the others parting to let him step in front of Ryan, and the faces fell into place in his memory.

Wearing a tux, just because he could, stood a man with hands visibly covered in tattoos, with messy black hair and short beard, and lazy, hooded blue eyes. Geoff Ramsey, big boss of the Fakes, stood with five of his crew. And Ryan was flashing back to that time he thought the grainy picture on the television had looked kind of like Ray, and Ray had laughed, and Ryan had agreed with the ludicrousness, and when the TV had shown the picture again, it really had looked nothing like Ray. A similar hoodie does not a criminal make.

Or—he thought, turning his head to look up at Ray with new understanding, Ray still holding the black bag wadded in his hands—maybe it does.

Ray winced. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

Ryan wanted to ask so many questions he didn’t know where to begin. How long had Ray kept this secret from him? That he was not only a member of the most notorious gang in the city, but one of its core members? How many times had Ray actually been hiding from the police when he crashed at Ryan’s apartment? But, unfortunately, there were more pressing questions to ask. He looked back at Geoff, heart thumping like a war drum.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Ryan asked, his whisper forcing out like a low growl. His stutter softened the dangerous tone. “B-because I assure you, I don’t know anything, I—”

“I _know_ ,” Geoff said, cutting him off with a wave of a hand. “Ray’s vouched for you since you got here. If you’re lying, you’re both very dedicated. Your words won’t mean anything to me.”

Ryan squeaked. Geoff hadn’t said he _wasn’t_ going to kill him. Was this karma? For holding a knife to another man’s throat? Was this karma for trying to rescue his friend? Everyone was staring at him. Ray still held the bag. He had no idea how he had gotten here in the first place. There was too much happening.

“Please,” Ryan said, desperately holding Geoff’s gaze. “Please don’t kill me.”

“ _Jesus_ Christ, dude, relax already,” Geoff said, crossing his arms. “I’m not gonna kill you. And neither is anyone else here. We at least owe you that much for rescuing our Ray, though he should _not_ have _brought_ you here,” he added, shooting Ray a glare.

“I had to, Geoff!” Ray snapped. “That Funhaus gang might target him for helping me, or for hurting one of them! You know they care about each other like we do in the Fakes.”

“It’s not like he escorted him to one of our core hideouts,” said the one with the square jaw. His voice was pleasantly husky, if not a little loud, and he wore a brown leather jacket. What was his name again? Ryan drew a blank.

“He doesn’t know where he is,” Ray protested more. “I made sure of that. I just—didn’t know what else to do. He _saved_ me, Geoff. He’s a—a good friend.”

“Alright, alright! Shut up!” Geoff said. Ryan ventured to think the boss was _whining_. The boss of the biggest city gang was a lot less intimidating when he was whining. “Christ, you lads are hopeless.”

Geoff stomped away, and while Ryan couldn’t watch him leave for the other bodies surrounding him, he heard a door slam. The large man with the great beard—Ryan racked his brain again for a name. Why had he never paid close attention to the news?—smiled warmly at him. Ryan just stared back. Such a smile was out of place here.

“You can stay, for now,” said the bearded man. He looked at Ray when he added, in a sterner voice, “But this is temporary. We’ll make sure Funhaus isn’t looking for you, and then you’ll go home and never come back here. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Ryan squeaked.

“And Ray,” the man added, putting a hand on his hip. “Geoff and I would like to speak with you.

“Give me a few minutes, Jack,” Ray said, and the name made connections in Ryan’s brain. Jack Pattillo, second in command to Geoff Ramsey and often an acting boss when Geoff was unavailable. Ryan marveled at how Ray fearlessly brushed Jack off—but, he supposed, he didn’t know a lot about the dynamics here. Rumors had it that the core family members were all on pretty equal terms. And Ray was a part of it…

“I understand,” Jack said with a sigh. “You need to speak with your friend first. Michael, Jeremy, you’re on guard duty here. Don’t leave them alone. Gavin, go do your thing.”

The man with the large nose snapped a salute and a lazy grin before scampering off to another room. Jeremy, the small one who had called him ugly, and Michael with the brown jacket, both rolled their eyes and retreated to a couch behind them. Jack shook his head and went after Geoff.

Ryan could see now that he was in a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment with bare yellow walls and hardwood floors. There was a balcony through the glass doors ahead of Ryan, though the windows were blocked with blackout curtains. Ryan was seated in the middle of a cleared area facing the couch’s arm in the common area, and behind him was a small kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was the exit. Two of the other doors were in the wall to Ryan’s right, and one was to his left, next to a TV.

Ryan watched Michael and Jeremy with narrowed eyes, but they hardly paid him any mind. They lounged on the couch and turned on the TV, switching to a channel that was playing an action movie. They kept the volume and their chatting voices low. Ray crouched behind Ryan’s chair to untie Ryan’s wrists.

“I broke a rule, bringing you here,” Ray said softly. The rope rubbed over Ryan’s wrists, and he grimaced as they sharply burned. “Geoff’s pissed, so Jack’s just following protocol.”

“Which is…?”

A car blew up on the television, and Michael and Jeremy cheered before remembering they had to be quiet. The rope fell away completely and Ray moved to the front of the chair to untie Ryan’s ankles. Ryan massaged his wrists with a sigh.

“Michael and Jeremy are here to make sure we don’t plot a coup while Jack calms Geoff down,” Ray said. Michael heard this and flashed a wicked grin at them.

“They don’t seem to really think you would,” Ryan noted. Ray finished untying his ankles and stood. Ryan experimentally shifted his feet around, feeling his freedom with certainty.

“We’d die for each other,” Ray said.

Ryan paused.

“I… see…”

The silence was filled only by the rapid-fire pops of a cinematic assault rifle. Ryan’s tongue tingled with unanswered questions, but he didn’t even know how to begin, or what questions to ask. The weight of this new world in front of him felt like an elephant on his shoulders. Ray shifted from foot to foot besides Ryan’s chair. What was he going to do now? How could he deal with this new information?

Ray sighed and gestured behind them, bringing Ryan to the small square kitchen table. Ryan glanced back at Michael and Jeremy as he sat back down with Ray. Ray was still… _Ray._ Even knowing who his friends were, Ryan couldn’t picture Ray holding the Brownman’s infamous pink sniper. Or a rocket launcher. Or even a pistol. He couldn’t reconcile the grainy image of the purple-clad felon with the purple-clad friend who had bought him a leather jacket and taken him to the carnival.

The Ray he knew had always come off as a loner. Not someone with a tightly woven group of six criminal buddies, plus an empire underneath them. It felt like a joke. Someone was going to shout “April Fools’!” any minute, even though it was autumn.

“Please stop staring at me like that,” Ray said quietly. Ryan blinked. He hadn’t realized. “I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to like to you all this time. You were… my only unattached friend, my only friend not in this business, and though I knew it was selfish of me to keep you around, I really enjoyed having you as a _normal_ friend.”

“This is…” Ryan gestured broadly at the world around him.

“A lot to take in, I know,” Ray said, his hands clasped together on the table. “Jack gave me a few minutes to answer any questions you have. To not just… leave you hanging.”

“Right.”

“So,” said Ray, taking a deep breath and straightening his back to look Ryan right in the eye. “Ask away.”


	3. In Which Ryan Asks Some Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out Christmas day, but well, who'd've thunk it, you're expected to spend TIME with your family. Like, All Weekend.  
> so Happy Hannukah instead, and have a merry holiday season.

Ray waited for Ryan’s questions, his hands clasped with white knuckles on the table. Ryan tried to wrap his head around the idea this idea that Ray was a renowned criminal. Like, sure, Los Santos was not the greatest place to live, but if you minded your own business, you’d get by okay. It wouldn’t be a huge surprise if someone had dabbled with unlawfulness at some point in their stay in Los Santos. But Ryan’s mind tried to preserve some aspect of Ray’s innocence, somehow.

“How many… how many people have you killed?”

Ray flinched. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

Ryan shut his eyes for just a moment. Was it guilt for the lives he took, or guilt for the lies he told Ryan? Ray has killed people. Everyone in this room has killed people. He felt like he should be frightened, but instead he just felt queasy.

“So—you’ve been… the whole time I’ve known you?” Ryan felt like the words were strangling each other in his throat, a battle royale for who gets spoken.

“Yeah,” said Ray.

“But that—that’s two whole years,” Ryan said breathlessly.

Memories flashed across his mind’s eye to the beat of the television’s gunfire. Some of the signs were so obvious now. The odd hours with half-baked lies Ryan could never remember as Ray crashed on the sofa. The purple hoodie on the news. How Ray always turned the TV off when he came, and how when he came it was always a few hours after a breaking story.

“I can’t believe I—I never even _suspected…_ ”

“Um… Yeah…” Ray’s shoulders hunched, and the tendons on the back of his hands stood out sharply. “I lied about that too. I let you think I didn’t have magic, that I was a Reg like you.”

Ryan’s gut twisted, and his queasiness squirmed up to the back of his mouth. “Ray, how did you bring me here?”

Ray’s hands unclasped now so that he could scratch at a spot on the table. He seemed entirely focused on it as he spoke next. “I specialize in magic dealing with perception. I… to sum it up, I messed with your short term memory, so that anything you saw, heard, felt, wouldn’t stick.”

Ryan stared. He blanked for a moment before one question fought its way victoriously to the surface.

“You… you’ve been manipulating my head?” The last phrase of the question went unspoken. _All this time?_

“Not really!” Ray said. His eyes snapped up to look at Ryan now, wide in his pale face. Ryan didn’t make any expression. He didn’t glare, and he didn’t smile. Ray grimaced. “I mean—this was the most I’ve ever done. I never did more than absolutely necessary. Only little tweaks to how you saw some things. I did it to protect you from… _this._ ” He flung his hands out, gesturing to the apartment around them. “If you had figured out I’m a member of the Fakes, then at best I’d never see you again, and at worst…”

Ray took a deep breath. “I know I was selfish. I know I shouldn’t have. I felt guilty about it every time. But I… You were a breath of fresh air. Please—please believe me, Ryan. I never changed anything that wasn’t to protect me from you. Everything else was—was genuine.”

Ryan felt like he should be angry. That was the reasonable thing to be, right? When someone lied to you for two years. But Ryan just couldn’t seem to digest it all. He needed time. He needed time to understand that Ray was a member of the Fakes, and one of its magical members to boot. In a weird way, it all made sense. Things were falling into place, and Ryan might have done the same as Ray, had their situations been swapped. But he needed time.

“I believe you,” said Ryan quietly. “You—you’re still my friend. This doesn’t change the time we’ve spent together. But I—I need some time to digest this all.”

Ray slumped back into his chair, an uneasy smile creeping across his face. “Of course, man,” he said. The half-smile faded. “The amount of time you get depends on what Geoff decides to do with you. I still might never see you again. Or you might become a confidante, and be asked to do some things that may not technically be legal. I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen next… I’m so sorry to drag you into this mess.”

Ryan clenched a hand tightly, his whole arm tensing up. He knew one thing for certain, despite everything. “Ray,” he said. “I don’t want a life without you in it.”

Ray seemed startled to hear it. He was speechless; his face slack with—shock? Instead of relief, Ray’s face fell and he looked away. Had Ryan said the wrong thing?

One of the bedroom doors slammed open, and all four men still in the common area jumped. Ryan and Ray remained seated, but Michael and Jeremy leapt off the couch to spin towards the sound. Gavin had practically launched himself out of the room next to the TV, his eyes wide and his phone in his hand.

“Geoff!” he cried—screeched, really, in his British trill. “Emergency!”

Geoff and Jack burst from the other bedroom. Geoff also had a phone in his hand. He no longer wore his suit jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos filling in his arms. When they appeared, only then did Ray lurch from his seat to stand, and Ryan hesitantly followed suit.

“Same call from shadow team?” Geoff asked Gavin. Gavin nodded, his face pale. His free hand clutched something at his chest, and Ryan realized Gavin had a thick gold chain around his neck, looked under his purple shirt’s rumpled collar.

Geoff sighed, tucked his phone into his pocket, and rolled his shoulders back, drawing himself up to his full height. “Shadow team has been attacked, and are requesting help. Jack, we need your vehicles, and Ray, you’re coming since your… _friend_ isn’t.”

“I’m coming too,” declared Michael.

“Me too, said Jeremy.

Geoff opened his mouth, but then sighed again and shook his head. “Alright, fine, whatever. I would rather have someone stay with Gavin and—the new guy, but I can’t keep you away and I can’t spare anyone else. Gavin, you can handle yourself, right?”

Gavin swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and cast Ryan a wide-eyed glance. His hand that had clutched his necklace dropped, revealing a pair of small golden medallions, and went to lightly touch a pistol holstered to his thigh.

“Of course.”

“No time to waste,” Geoff snapped. “Grab your guns and let’s go. Shadow team needs our help.”

Ray lightly touched Ryan’s shoulder as he passed by, making Ryan shiver, and headed for one of the bedrooms. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll be back soon, I promise. You’ll be safe here.”

Ryan stood in the middle of a whirlwind of activity. He didn’t even get the chance to say anything else to Ray, as his friend disappeared into a bedroom and returned with a pink sniper rifle slung over his shoulder and two pistols on a harness under his hoodie. He drew the hoodie’s zipper closed over the pistols as he looked at Ryan mournfully, but there was no hiding the rifle.

Ryan never thought he might consider fearing Ray.

Michael shouldered a shotgun and flashed a wicked grin at Ryan as he passed by. Ryan could _feel_ the sadistic malice rolling off of him, like a man seeking revenge. Ryan hoped Michael’s anger was never directed at him. The others passed by without sparing Ryan another glance. The exit shut behind them, and Gavin pranced by to throw locks into place.

The apartment was empty except for Ryan and Gavin. At some point, the tv had been shut off, so it was dead silent. Ryan didn’t hear any movements from any neighboring apartments; he still had no idea what time it was. The clock on both the microwave and the stove flashed zeroes.

Ryan realized that he and Gavin were just staring at each other. Gavin pressed his back against the door as he watched Ryan like a hawk. Ryan ventured to say that he was _intimidated._ Ryan found that odd. He _was_ a big man compared to Gavin, but no one had ever been scared of Ryan before, and—Ryan patted his pockets to double check—Gavin was the only one with a weapon.

“Um…” Ryan said. He kept his voice low, but he still rumbled. He didn’t want to scare Gavin—not just because he might have an itchy trigger finger, but also simply because he didn’t _want_ to be an intimidating person. But Gavin still narrowed his eyes. “May I use the bathroom? I really need to get this face paint off.”

He could still feel patches of stickiness on his face.

Gavin didn’t speak, but gestured to the door next to the master bedroom. Ryan thanked him and headed for that door. When he paused and glanced over his shoulder, Gavin had followed him, but Ryan never actually saw him move. Like a cat, he thought.

The bathroom had small, but had a bath/shower combo. There was a tiny linen closet just inside, and the sink had cabinets underneath as well as a mirror over it.

Ryan saw his reflection for the first time since the carnival. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-crazed. The paint smeared over his face by rain, sweat, and wear distorted his features. It was splotchy, with patches of skin showing through. But he could still see where the artist had initially painted. His eyes surrounded by black, making his blue irises pop. His forehead and nose bridge red, his cheeks covered with a curve of black. The rest of the space filled with white, except for vertical black lines over his lips.

He shook his head and started a hunt for a washcloth. Gavin, it seemed, couldn’t bear the silence. “Um. What’s your name again?”

“Ryan.”

Gavin hovered at the open door. “Is that really your name?”

Ryan scoffed. He pulled open the linen closet to find no linens, but a lot of gauze and med kits. Not even a towel.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Is your name really Gavin?”

“As far as you know,” Gavin shot back. Ryan rolled his eyes as he crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinets. Gavin was supposed to be this renowned criminal, not acting like—like a child. The cabinets held a bottle of toilet cleaner, a plunger, a cheap hairdryer, feminine napkins, and extra toilet paper. But no wash clothes. Ryan straightened and turned to Gavin.

“Don’t you have any washcloths? Or paper towels? Toilet paper disintegrates.”

“We usually have makeup remover somewhere, but I think we’re out of stock in this hideout. We should have paper towels in the kitchen area.”

Gavin didn’t move until Ryan stepped towards him. Then he backed off to the side so that his eyes were always on Ryan as he headed for the kitchen. Ryan found a roll of paper towels in a cabinet above the counters space and returned to the bathroom with his prize.

Prize… Ryan patted his pockets again and froze.

“Um… this might be a stupid question, but did any of you take the—the little plastic duck…”

Gavin cracked a grin, barely holding in a giggle. “Technically, we didn’t _take_ your stuff; you emptied your pockets for us. You just don’t remember.”

Ryan’s lip curled. Ray’s magic… “Of course,” he said in a low growl. Gavin’s grin slipped away.

“Aye, chill, man,” Gavin said. “Ray took it from you when you emptied your pockets. I don’t know where he put it. As for your mask, that’s in the second bedroom.”

“And my throwing knives?”

Gavin haughtily raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m going to let you know where your weapons are? No thanks.”

“Ahh but—they were a gift,” Ryan pleaded.

“No way, man,” Gavin said, raising his hands defensively. “You’re out of luck.”

Ryan turned away from Gavin, crumpling the first sheet of paper towel in his hand as he faced the bathroom sink. He knew he was technically their prisoner here, and that prisoners don’t get weapons. But they were a gift from Ray. He had used them to _save_ Ray.

Ryan wet a wad of paper towels under the faucet and hesitated. He had saved Ray. He had been fully prepared to injure or even kill that man if it meant saving Ray. And he would do it again. What did that make him?

“Are you gonna take the face paint off or not?”

Ryan jumped. Gavin leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and the golden medallions hidden underneath.

“I thought you wanted to get the bloody paint off,” Gavin said.

“Yeah—I do.”

“So then stop being so lost in thought,” Gavin said. “It’s weird and I want to see if you’re as ugly as Jeremy thinks you are.”

Ryan examined the splotchy paint and suddenly had the strong desire to fix it up rather than remove it. Gavin wanted to see his real face, unadorned by makeup. Plenty of people have seen him without face paint of course, but now he was in a nest of hornets—even if it was mostly empty right now. Hiding his face now felt like his only protection, as superficial as that felt.

Gavin sighed. “I promise I won’t take your picture or anything, if that would make you feel better.”

Ryan squeezed some of the water out of his wad. He was being silly, and besides, he wanted to get this stickiness off his face. He silently chastised himself as he dragged the paper towels over his skin.

The paint, for the most part, came away easily. The small bathroom garbage can filled up with his trash by the time he wiped away most of the cheap paint. He scrubbed the last trails of paint, the skin underneath pink.

Gavin whistled. “Not bad,” he said. “How old are you?”

The pink on Ryan’s face deepened. He opened his mouth and paused. “What is this, a background check? You want my social security number?”

“If you’re willing to give it.”

Ryan glared at him, but Gavin was grinning.

“Why don’t you just manipulate the information out of me?” Ryan muttered, turning to glare at the sink. The pale basin was streaked with black and red.

“Oh I have my ways,” Gavin said. “But I’m not an Aug, if you’re worried. I don’t have magic.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes. Gavin could be lying. He could be lying about anything.

Gavin stroked his chin and the short scruffy beard growing on it. “You shouldn’t be too mad at Ray about how he brought you here. I know you don’t remember anything, but you actually _did_ come here somewhat of your own volition. Magic can’t take your free will—can’t _really_ make you do something you don’t want to do. You just… seemed to have a lot of trust in Ray, despite not knowing what was going on.”

Ryan stared. Heat washed over the back of his neck. Logically, Ryan understood why Ray did it. Hideouts were by nature secret location, and Ray needed to get Ryan to a safe place without potentially endangering the _others_ who use the safe place.

But emotionally, Ryan still felt… not quite _betrayed,_ but blown away and unstable. He knew he would forgive Ray soon, but he needed just a little time to let his emotions run their course.

A high pitched whine threaded through the apartment, a mechanical noise like a sensor going off. Ryan looked to Gavin to ask what that was when he realized he hadn’t been the only one with a mask. Everything Gavin had shown him before was an act. He acted nervous, acted like he was scared of being left alone with Ryan, acted like he was relaxing around Ryan. Now, Gavin’s face had gone lily white, his entire expression transformed into sheer terror. After a second or two of frozen horror, Gavin snapped into action and fled across the room towards the second bedroom.

Ryan tailed him slowly, unsure of whether to follow, but Gavin threw the bedroom door open and let it slam against the limits of its own hinges. He entered a dark room lit only by the glow of four computer screens.

“Get in here, and shut the door!” Gavin trilled, flinging himself into the desk chair, his fingers a blur across a keyboard before he had even settled down. Ryan obeyed hurriedly.

The room had two identical twin beds against one long wall, and Gavin’s desk against the opposite wall. Ryan’s mask lay sadly deflated on the corner of the desk, but Ryan didn’t dare go for it yet. He sat on the edge of one of the beds and watched.

Three monitors were connected to a slim laptop. On two of these monitors, the screen was split into four camera views each. One screen was lines of code, and the last, on the laptop itself, was the window of some program Ryan had never seen before. Gavin was muttering to himself, staring intently at his screens.

“They shouldn’t _be_ here,” he squeaked. “They should all be—why are they _here?_ ”

“Who’s here?” Ryan asked. His hands twitched in his lap, and he shoved them into his jacket’s pockets.

Gavin shot him a look over his shoulder. “My cameras identified a Funhaus member entering the building. They must’ve followed you or tracked you somehow. They’ve hired backup this time. They’re coming up here, and we don’t have any escape.”


	4. In Which Ryan Fires a Gun

Gavin pulled the plug on his computer and slapped the laptop shut. The monitors snapped off and plunged them into semi-darkness, lit only by a previously unnoticed nightlight plugged into the wall next to the door. Gavin and Ryan stared at each other, unmoving, no sounds between them.

“Give me my knives,” Ryan said finally.

Gavin shook his head, his eyes wide.

Something slammed into the front door. Gavin jumped in his chair and leaned down to pull a lean backpack out from under his desk. He shoved the laptop into it, then ripped the cord away from the wall and shoved that in as well.

“Gavin,” Ryan pleaded quietly. The door boomed again. They were going to knock it in. “Don’t let me be unarmed.”

“I don’t have them,” Gavin whispered. He put the backpack on his shoulders and slid open one of the desk’s drawers. His hands were still visibly shaking. Ryan stepped up next to Gavin, his hands finding his mask as he stared at Gavin and as Gavin stared at the drawer. “Geoff took them.”

“Give me a gun, then. Anything.”

“I can’t,” Gavin whined. He withdrew the round shape of a frag grenade from the drawer. His eyes were glassy in the dim light when he looked at Ryan again. “I won’t.”

Gavin didn’t trust Ryan. Even with a rival gang busting down their door, Gavin didn’t want to risk giving Ryan an advantage over him. If Ryan died because of this, he fumed, he was going to haunt the fuck out of Gavin. Silently, Ryan pulled the mask over his head.

Later, Ryan would reflect, he wasn’t exactly sure why he did it. He blamed the mask and a fear of death. He tackled Gavin, and they thumped to the floor. Gavin struggled, wrestled, waved the grenade around one handed, but Ryan snatched his wrist. They rolled, and Ryan’s head slammed into a bed frame, the impact cushioned only slightly by the mask. His other hand went to the holster at Gavin’s thigh, and he pried the pistol out.

Wood splintered, and half a dozen pairs of feet stomped through the front door. Ryan’s breath rasped against his mask’s teeth. He and Gavin were between the two beds, a meager hiding place. He got off of Gavin, pressing his back against the bed and hunching low. Ryan found the safety on the gun and flipped it off. He hadn’t held a gun in a while, but he remembered how to use one—he couldn’t have moved from the South to Los Santos if he didn’t.

As soon as Ryan gave him enough space to, Gavin curled up into a tight ball like a bothered pill bug. He couldn’t seem to control his breathing; he clutched the grenade like it was all he had left. Ryan couldn’t believe this. This man was supposed to be a fearsome gang member. Now he was cowering on the floor in front of Ryan. _Ryan_ was the one supposed to be so scared he couldn’t move!

“How many bullets?” Ryan asked through gritted teeth.

“Nine,” Gavin gasped out.

“How many men?”

“Six. Body armor but no helmets.”

Ryan squeezed the handle of the pistol until his hand hurt. He thought he’d pull a muscle in his jaw for how tightly he was clenching it. “When that door opens,” he growled, “you throw that grenade at them, or else we both die immediately.”

Gavin looked at him, one eye peeking around his arm. Silently, gripping the grenade tight, Gavin yanked the pin out. Ryan hoped that the man’s fear wouldn’t kill them both.

 The door burst open with a shattering crunch. Without taking his eye off Ryan, Gavin swung his arm, lobbing the grenade over the bed towards the doorway. Ryan only heard a “What the—OH!” before the grenade exploded. The room rattled, and two men’s screams sounded like a video game. In that moment, the moment of the explosion, the moment of the scream, Ryan felt suddenly calm. He was detached from this reality. He spun onto his knees, held his elbows just above the mattress, and stared down the pistol’s sight into the doorway.

Ryan didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, didn’t let his mind exist. He saw a head and pulled the trigger. A second head appeared, a second shot. And when a third head appeared, a head with black hair, thick glasses, and a wide mouth, he shot a third time, but the bullet hit something else.

The man saw Ryan, said, “Oh _shit!_ ” and flinched. Just as Ryan squeezed the trigger a third time, a shimmering form appeared in front of the man and took the bullet for it. Ryan caught a glimpse of a dark djinn-like shape before Gavin hooked an elbow around Ryan’s throat and dragged him down. When Ryan was back below the bed, Gavin let go and edged back.

“This is why I hate being on these missions!” the man whined. “This was supposed to be easy! Alright, move! We’ll draw them out—they have nowhere to go in there.”

“That’s Lawrence,” Gavin whispered. “He doesn’t have much control over his magic, but it protects him. They don’t usually send him on missions like this.”

Ryan wanted to ask why, but he didn’t really care about it at the moment. He cared about the fact that there was a Funhaus Aug in the living room—between them and escape.

“How many are dead?” Gavin asked. He was still drawn up tight, and his voice was still pitched high, but he seemed to have calmed down slightly.

Dead. Ryan’s hands started to shake. This adrenaline, this thrill… but Ryan had taken life. He had been questioning earlier if he could do it, and it turned out that he could. He reminded himself that if he didn’t, they would. Ryan cleared his throat. “I shot two. Two more are down, not sure if dead or just wounded.”

“Hopefully they can’t shoot a gun still,” Gavin muttered. He shivered. “That leaves one with Lawrence. We have to move quickly, before they set up any traps. But I’m all out of grenades…” Gavin curled up again, hugging his knees to his chest.

“We’ll take them on,” Ryan said. He held the pistol out to Gavin, who gingerly took it. “Two of them, two of us. You can shoot this, right? It’s not just for show?” Gavin nodded. “Shoot at the last armed guy. I’ll go out first.”

Gavin nodded again, and Ryan peeked over the bed. He couldn’t see Lawrence or the last armed guy. Four bodies lay in the doorway, one of which was squirming and groaning. The doorway was cracked and sooty, and blood so dark it looked black smeared the frame. The door itself was crumpled against the desk.

Ryan stood, waited for Gavin to stand with him, and sprinted. He leaped over the four bodies in the doorway and dove for the kitchen table. He rolled across the hardwood floor, bullets spraying above his head from the direction of the couch. The sound of the gun rattled Ryan’s teeth. As soon as his feet were under him again, he pushed off to slide behind the kitchen table. Before he could gather himself again, three loud pops rang out, and the rapid fire shooting ceased.

Ryan stood to see Gavin in the bedroom doorway, his pistol now trained on the last man standing behind the couch. The man called Lawrence had his own pistol pointed at Ryan but he stared at Gavin, and the djinn-like figure floated behind him as though ready to pounce. The figure was a mix of light and navy blue, and its form kept shifting—though it was always vaguely humanoid. Lawrence wore a teal jeans and black leather jacket, stylishly European with orange lining peeking from under the collar.

The world was still once more. Ryan hadn’t realized how tumultuous it had been before.

“Why are you here?” Gavin said. His voice had changed. It was like iced venom, whereas before it had trembled, before it had been playful. “How did you find this place?”

“What’s it to you?” Lawrence said. “What’re you pointing that at _me_ for?”

“You’re in _my_ home,” Gavin said. “You invaded _my_ home with five extra cunts. You expect me to be cordial?”

“I’m not here for _you_ ,” Lawrence said. “I’m here for the man that injured us. Surely he’s not your _friend?_ ” Lawrence bared his teeth in a sadistic sneer. “I would know if you had a new member!”

_They know I’m not a part of the Crew_ , Ryan thought. He swallowed hard and glanced at Gavin. The mask felt hot on his face. If Gavin lowered his gun… _I don’t have any allies._ Oh, if Ray was here, he’d feel a lot more confidant in his survivability.

The bang surprised Ryan. He expected to greet death head on, applied directly to the forehead, but instead the smoky djinn wrapped around Lawrence, enveloping him, its body flashing blue like lightning where the bullet had struck.

Gavin ran at Ryan, pushed him, shoved at his stomach before Ryan could remember how to properly run. The front door had been burst open, its hinges bent and amidst a sprinkling of splinters. Concentrating on moving Ryan, Gavin was turned away from Lawrence. The smoky djinn-like magic dissipated, and Ryan saw Lawrence raise his pistol.

Ryan didn’t cry out, didn’t even widen his eyes in alarm. He just grabbed Gavin by the upper arms, lifted, and spun using Gavin’s forward momentum. Gavin let out a startled shriek, and just as Ryan put himself between Lawrence and Gavin, a gunshot rang out.

Pain flared in Ryan’s shoulder like someone had streamed a hot knife across it. He gritted his teeth and bit down the pain. A second gunshot exploded in the apartment, but he didn’t feel a second bullet—just Gavin sliding his arm back from between Ryan’s arm and torso, then Gavin pulling at Ryan’s wrist and out the door. When he glanced behind him, before the hallway obscured the view of the apartment, he saw the smoke had protectively enveloped Lawrence again, flashing blue.

“You shot him again,” Ryan said in awe.

“Come _on_ ,” Gavin said, dashing for the stairs with Ryan hot on his heels. Any comments he might have had were going to wait for as long as they were in danger. “The police will likely be here soon.”

“Where will we go?” Ryan asked. His heart beat hard in his chest, with more violence than just from a sprint. He had survived, for now. He had made sure of it. But for how much longer?

“Geoff and the others are probably still occupied.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and hesitated before the outside exit. Gavin pulled a pair of golden sunglasses out of his backpack, put them on, then brought his phone from his pocket to his ear. “I need to ensure both of our safety.”

“And…?” Ryan said. He winced and clamped a hand over his wound. His hand came away with a red streak, and he felt like vomiting. It didn’t seem too bad; the bullet just grazed him. And—even worse—now his jacket was ripped. His new leather jacket. That Ray had given him.

“I have a contact who can pick us up,” Gavin said. He nodded curtly, and they both stepped out onto the street. The night sky greeted Ryan, starless through the city though the cool air did not reach his face through his mask. He didn’t get much chance to look closely at his surroundings as they hurried down the street, but he didn’t recognize this part of the city. They turned down the first alley they came across, and the person Gavin was calling picked up.

“Meg,” he said. “I need a safe place for two.”

* * *

 

Ryan and Gavin waited in an alleyway several blocks away from the apartment. Ryan’s shoulder was still bleeding, but slower now. Ryan still had no idea where he was; if he had ever been to this part of the city before, he had only seen it in the daytime. Regardless, it was entirely unfamiliar. Ryan leaned against the brick wall of one of the buildings forming the alley, and Gavin perched on the edge of a dumpster on the opposite side. Gavin had said nothing since leaving the apartment, only shushing Ryan when asked any questions. Until now.

“I don’t trust you,” Gavin said suddenly. Gavin turned his head to look at Ryan. His golden sunglasses made him appear far too nonchalant for the seriousness in his words. Like a preppy douchebag lounging in the sun rather than a criminal sitting on a dumpster at night. “I don’t even know if I like you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Half of me wants to ditch you and save myself,” Gavin said. “And I wonder if it would be better for me to let Lawrence have his little revenge on behalf of Funhaus.”

Ryan looked away and lightly touched his mask. He was unwilling to take it off, and Gavin wearing sunglasses still further convinced him to keep his face hidden. The rubber stuck to his face with sweat and heat, but to take it off to feel the cool air on his skin was to face what had just transpired. He still expected someone to round the corner and shoot at him. Every time a car zipped by, he expected a cop car looking for him.

“Then why am I still…”

“The other half wants to fight bloody Death himself to keep you alive,” Gavin said. “I don’t think Ray would ever forgive me if anything happened to you. That’s the only reason why you’re coming with me to the next safe house.”

Oh. Ryan was alive because of his friendship to Ray. Then again, he was also _here_ now because of his friendship to Ray. He leaned his head back and looked up at the narrow strip of sky above their alleyway. He pretended that if he looked for long enough, he’d see more than five stars.

Gavin was hard to pin down. He was erratic, but Ryan was forced to put his faith in Gavin without expecting anything mutual. Ryan bit his lip, tasting his salty sweat. He didn’t want to be alone with Gavin. He wished the Crew wasn’t so bent on making sure he and Ray were separated or outnumbered.

“Where _is_ Ray right now?” Ryan asked.

Gavin sighed and adjusted his sunglasses. “You’ve only seen half of the family Crew. The half that everyone knows. The other half was on their way to that apartment, but got jumped by Funhaus. Most of us went to go help, but Lawrence tried to overwhelm the two of us with some hired goons. Speaking of—nice aim.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said automatically. He pursed his lips and put pressure on his wound. He wasn’t upset about the men losing their lives. They were going to kill him, and he would rather be alive than them. The fight had been… thrilling. He had felt powerful. That thought made him nauseated. “Will they—be okay?”

“I dunno,” Gavin said. “I don’t think people get up from headshots.”

Ryan’s cheeks burned. “No—I meant…”

Gavin grinned at him in a way that said he knew exactly what Ryan had been asking, but then his smile faded and he stared at the wall ahead of him. “I have faith,” he said. “But I don’t know.”

“So…” Ryan mumbled. Something was still bothering him. “Why were you _all_ gathering? Surely I’m—I’m not so unusual that you need so many people to deal with me?”

“You’re not, and we don’t,” Gavin said. Though his head didn’t move, Ryan got the impression Gavin was side-eying him. “It was for something else.”

Ryan opened his mouth to ask what it was, but a flicker of movement at the alley’s mouth caught his eye. A petite woman rounded the corner, in a red corset, black skirt, and black ankle boots. Her deep red hair cascaded over her shoulders as she adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses and grinned.

“Found you!” said Meg. “Let’s get you boys to somewhere safe.”


	5. In Which Ryan Gets a Text Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a chapter out once every, what, two weeks? Good enough.

Ryan and Gavin both stood to greet her. Her heels echoed sharply in the alleyway as she approached. Ryan had no idea who Meg was—if she was a full, wanted criminal like Gavin, he had never heard of her, or else her role as a “contact” was reserved only for safe houses and pickups. She was short. Even in her heels Ryan towered over her, though his comparative physical advantage did not seem to worry her in the slightest.

“Gavin!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know this one. Did you guys make a new friend?”

“This is Ryan,” Gavin said. He seemed to stand a little straighter. “He’s Ray’s friend, and he angered Funhaus, and long story short we’re keeping him safe until we know what to do with him. Ryan, this is Meg. She used to be a member of the Cockbite gang over in Liberty City, but she’s since cut ties and moved here as a… free agent.”

“As a mercenary,” Ryan said. Meg laughed.

“You’re not technically wrong,” she said. “But not quite right either. My car is parked a block away from here, so let’s get moving.”

“Wait,” Gavin said. “Before we do that, I need you to check Ryan for any magic tracking spells. Funhaus found our safe house and targeted him there, and I’m not sure how.”

Oh, of course she was an Aug. Despite magical people being a minority in the general population, Ryan thought wryly, there seemed to be a higher ratio of them in crime.

“Sure thing, babe,” she said. Ryan tensed up as she approached, but didn’t move—only passively stared at her through the holes in his mask. She stopped a pace in front of him and held out one hand, splaying her fingers and aiming her palm at Ryan’s head. She closed her eyes, and inched her hand down, until after about a minute it aimed at his feet.

Meg blinked and shook her head at Gavin. “I don’t sense anything. They might have just followed him. Or else, they tracked something that he doesn’t have anymore. Satisfied?”

Gavin adjusted his backpack on his shoulders and nodded. Meg turned at strode out of the alleyway, and Ryan trailed behind Gavin as they followed. He wondered if he should take off his mask. Even though it was quite late at night, they would still be on public city roads for a while until they got to Meg’s car. Ryan decided that he would rather hide his face than look normal.

Ryan expected her car to be sleek, maybe black or red, maybe a sports car. Something to match her outer attire and attitude. But there was a dolphin gray SUV parked on the side of the road, and its normalcy made Ryan’s head spin as he entered the back seat. Gavin climbed into the front with Meg.

“Is he trustworthy?” Meg asked as she started the car.

“Too soon to tell,” Gavin said.

“Alright, well… I’m going to make sure we’re not followed for a while. Then I’m going to ask that he’s blindfolded.”

Ryan settled back into his seat as the car started to move. Gavin and Meg started chatting to each other, and Ryan started to zone out as the city slipped by. They talked about normal things, gossiped in such a way that Ryan could easily forget that these two were criminals. Gavin mentioned seeing someone walk their cat in the park the other day (on a leash and everything!), and Meg claimed she would do that every day when they got a cat.

Then Gavin’s conversation with Meg lulled, and he twisted suddenly in his seat to peer over his sunglasses at Ryan.

“Thanks for saving my life back there, by the way.”

Ryan blinked. “What…?”

“When you grabbed me and put me behind you,” Gavin said, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose and shifting. “And Lawrence shot you.”

Meg glanced at Gavin, but didn’t say anything. “I don’t think he was even aiming for you,” Ryan said. “You were probably never going to be shot.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Gavin. “It’s why I haven’t thanked you until now.”

Ryan glanced out the window. His wound stung.

“I don’t think most people would do what you did, though,” Gavin added after a pause. “At least, not outside my crew. You weren’t thinking I would be fine. You saw a gun and you put yourself between me and it.” He grinned. “So by any definition, you saved me.”

Ryan’s face felt hot again and he yearned to take off his mask to seek relief. But then Gavin would see how red his cheeks were. Instead, Ryan just shrugged and stared out the window.

“So,” Gavin said. Ryan jumped. “Here. I think you’ve earned this back. Just don’t call or message anyone about anything related to the past few hours.”

Gavin was holding out Ryan’s phone. Ryan stared for a few moments. It felt like a test with a trick question. He clenched his jaw and took his phone back.

“Fair warning,” Gavin said. “If you mention any safe house, any inkling that you’re with me or any other crew member, I will know. Also you should really reply to Jon.”

Ryan snapped his eyes up to glare at Gavin, but Gavin was already chuckling. “It’s a joke, man. I didn’t invade your privacy—I just saw the messages on the lock screen.”

Oh.

Gavin turned away, settling his back into the car seat. Ryan turned on his phone and entered his passcode to unlock it. As it made a little unlocking noise, Gavin said, without turning back around, “Remember. If you mention anything you shouldn’t, I will know.”

Ryan frowned at the headrest. Gavin said he hadn’t invaded his privacy—so he hasn’t read Ryan’s texts, other than those that popped up on the notifications screen. Then, how would he know what Ryan talked about? Did Gavin install something on his phone that tracked certain words, or something? Or was Gavin just trying to psych him out?

Ryan shook his head. He didn’t want to try it. He would just have to hope that Gavin was truthful insofar as his privacy was concerned. Either way, Ryan wasn’t exactly planning on trying to contact other people about… all this.

He opened his text messages from Jon.

>Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?

>Ryan?

>Haywood I s2g if you cancel on me last minute again…

>you better have a good fucking reason. You’re really trying my friendship.

Oh dear. He had forgotten about his lunch plans. The last message was sent about an hour ago. He typed out a message— _sorry, something came up, can’t say what—_ but his thumb hovered over the send button. He had skipped out on Jon several times before, but Jon also knew that right now Ryan was jobless. Ryan had no feasible excuse, no sudden meeting, no work connection.

When Ryan looked up again, Gavin was once more staring at him. Ryan scowled at him and his wry grin. “Are you avoiding a lunch date?”

“It’s not a date,” Ryan growled. “But seeing as I’m trapped with you.”

“Welllllll,” Gavin said, drawing out the _L_. “Yes, you’re not going anywhere alone soon. But it’s important you keep up your contacts.”

“But what if Funhaus…”

“Funhaus doesn’t know your face yet,” Gavin said. “Between your mask and face paint, they have no sure way to identify you—other than, of course, the mask and your coat.”

Ryan just stared at Gavin, and narrowed his eyes. Gavin sighed.

“Listen, mate. If people start wondering where you’ve gone off to, it’ll create problems for everyone. If you want to keep up this mask shtick for the time that you’re with us, you’ve got to uphold your secret identity, too. Clark Kent didn’t just drop off the map when he became Superman.”

_But I’m not a superhero,_ Ryan thought. _I’m a prisoner. Maybe a villain. And villains don’t get that same privilege._

“It doesn’t matter if I go if you guys are just gonna kill me later…”

“I don’t think so,” said Gavin. “You’ve arguably saved two of our lives now. That’s important and won’t be forgotten. I don’t think you’ve learnt any important secrets yet either. So… you might get let off easy. Anyway, I’m not going to force you to go have lunch with your friend. But if you do, one of us will likely tail you.”

“Right…”

Ryan sighed and deleted his unsent message.

>Sorry, had forgotten my phone charging. Yes, we’re still on.

Ryan looked up again. Gavin had turned his back, but Ryan still asked, “Will Ray and the others be back tonight?”

Gavin sighed and didn’t face him when he answered. “I hope so. I’ve sent them a text that our safe house was compromised and that we’re safe but moving to Meg’s. I won’t know the damage until after the fact.”

The car fell silent. Ryan watched Meg reach a hand across the middle and find Gavin’s hand to squeeze it. Ryan tightened his grip on his phone, and it buzzed under his palm.

>good!!!!!!!!! See you at noon asshole.

* * *

  

True to Meg’s request, Ryan was blindfolded before they actually started heading for the safe house. They drove for a long time, and Ryan may or may not have dozed off in the back seat, a strip of black cloth tied over his mask’s eyes, lulled by the hum of the car.

They didn’t take the blindfold off until they were right in front of a door to a small suburban house. Ryan stared at the happy red door. He had expected another apartment like the one they had left. Not… more normalcy. Meg unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning around to hold it open for him and Gavin.

“Sorry if it’s not quite clean,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting guests tonight.”

Meg led them to a white carpeted living room just to the right of the door, with muted red walls and a leather couch big enough to comfortably seat four people. A flat screen TV sat across from it on top of an entertainment console holding an Xbox and rows of DVDs and video games. The coffee table had some clutter –aluminum soda and energy drink cans, rumpled napkins and tissues, a bag of chips and a dirty plate left over from a recent meal, several magazines, and a small book.

“You can sleep on the couch tonight,” Meg said. “But before I get you some blankets, let’s get some first aid for your shoulder.”

“That’s,” said Ryan, “fine.”

Meg disappeared further into the house, but Gavin trailed after Ryan to the couch. He stood above Ryan as Ryan flopped down and wriggled out of his jacket. Ryan bundled the jacket in his lap, sadly toying with the tear in the shoulder.

“Meg should be able to fix that,” said Gavin. “She specializes in Glamour magic—you know, appearances and stuff—but she’s picked up some tailoring spells.”

Ryan stared at Gavin, and something in his eyes made Gavin start to smile in return. But then Gavin frowned and glanced back at the front door.

“I should get a reply soon,” he said. “Ideally I will be notified as soon as they’re done. And they should know we’re here.”

Ryan hesitated, then reached up and pulled the mask off his head. He stared at it in his hands for a moment, then tossed it on the couch and leaned back to rest his head against the cushions. He hoped they would be back soon. Not only so that he’d know Ray was safe, but also so that he’d know his _own_ fate.

“I hope so,” said Ryan.

When Meg came back with rubbing alcohol, a large Band-Aid, and a cotton swab, Gavin dismissed himself. Ryan rolled up his sleeve for her as she bounced onto the couch next to him. She dabbed the soaked cotton swab on his wound, making him hiss.

“You’re lucky it only grazed you,” Meg said. “Don’t even need stitches. Probably won’t even scar, once fully healed.”

She swabbed one last time, then ripped open the Band-Aid and smoothed it over his wound. “There!” she said. She patted him on the shoulder, carefully not hitting his wound. “All patched up. You’re the easiest job I’ve had in a while.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said. “Gavin said you’d be able to repair my jacket…?”

Meg gave him a knowing smirk. “Ray gave it to you, right? He was holding on to it for three weeks, waiting to give it and the throwing knives to you.”

“So can you fix it?” Ryan pressed, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks.

Meg flipped her red hair over her shoulder and shimmied her shoulders proudly as she straightened her back. “Of course I can. An expert won’t be able to tell there was a tear in the first place. I have one price, though.”

Ryan’s heart dropped. Was he going to have to pay a life debt just to repair a tear?

Meg pointed at the TV. “You have to watch one season of an anime of my choosing.”

Oh! Ryan grinned. “That, I can do.”

“Meg!” Gavin called from somewhere inside the house. “Don’t make dates with him! We don’t even know if we’ll see him again!”

“My safe house might be your safe house,” Meg called back, “but I’m still independent.”  She winked at Ryan and took his jacket. “It’ll take me a while to repair this. I’ll go get you some blankets now, so you can try to rest. They might not be back for a while, and you look like you’ve had a long day.”

Ryan exhaled through puffed cheeks and ran a hand through his hair. He still felt wired, his eyes wide open, but he felt exhaustion waiting at the edge of his awareness. Though his mind was still running a marathon, his body was slowing down. The mere mention of rest made his eyes itch and a yawn build at the back of his throat.

“Plus,” Meg added, “if you sleep, they’ll come back faster.”

Ryan chuckled, and Meg smiled at him. “Can’t argue with that.”


	6. In Which Ryan Gets Lunch with a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i am trying. This one's a bit longer.

Ryan fell asleep immediately on the couch, bundled up in blankets supplied by Meg. He slept soundly until about 5 AM, when no less than seven locks on the front door unlatched, and a small crowd stomped inside in a cacophony of feet and weapons. Ryan shot up, immediately awake, and tossed the blankets aside. He stood up and searched the incoming crowd for Ray.

The Crew came back with more people than had left the safe house earlier. Everyone looked exhausted, and no one escaped bruises or scrapes. A woman, hair dyed blonde, had her arm in a sling and Michael’s arm around her waist. A man with shaggy shoulder-length brown hair was favoring one leg, supported between Jeremy and a skinny man with black hair and a cut on his forehead. These people barely looked at Ryan, and instead paid attention to Gavin and Meg, who ran down the stairs to greet them. Meg and Gavin practically threw themselves into the crowd, hugging anyone they saw (and who could be hugged without further injury).

And then Ryan saw Ray, pale with his eyes fluttering and his bare shoulder wrapped in red-stained gauze. Geoff supported him, and Jack carried his stained hoodie and shirt, and the pink sniper rifle. Jack leaned the gun against the wall near the door and tossed the clothes down before helping Geoff. They brought Ray over to the couch and lay him down on it. The other Crew members trailed behind. Ryan stepped aside, his hands trembling and his heart racing.

“Ray…” he whispered.

Geoff sighed and glanced at Ryan. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “We stopped the bleeding, but he’s just lost a bit of blood. He’ll be fine, he’s just a bit… woozy, but he needs to rest.”

“How…” Ryan choked.

“Not for you to know,” Geoff snapped. Ryan took a step back. This wasn't real, didn't feel real. Jack raised an eyebrow at Geoff but didn’t say anything.

Gavin wove nimbly through the small crowd to Ryan and grabbed at his wrist. Gavin pulled him closer to the couch, and they both hovered over Ray. Gavin only let go when Geoff crossed his arms and stepped back. Gavin leaned down to brush Ray’s bangs back. Ryan reached down to brush his fingers against Ray's hand. Clammy, chill.

Ray’s eyes fluttered again as he looked up at them. “Ryan, Gavin,” he mumbled. “Heard what happened. You okay?”

“Me!” Ryan exclaimed. “You’re halfway unconscious and you’re asking…”

“Yes, Ray,” Gavin said, his voice cutting over Ryan’s. “We’ll tell you about it later. Get some rest, love. We’ll see to things in the morning.”

Ray nodded, a tiny movement that barely shifted his head. His eyes drifted shut, and soon he was fast asleep, only his chest moving with his slow breaths. Geoff sighed again, loudly, in a clear effort to draw attention back to him.

“Meg, if we could get your first aid kit to Ray, we can replace his bandages. Everyone else, off to bed. Patch up your cuts. Get rest. As Gavin said, we’ll see to things in the morning.”

The others didn’t argue or even say anything past mumbled _good nights._ The crew dispersed deeper into the house, footsteps going both up and down stairs. Ryan was left with Jack, Geoff, Gavin, and Meg.

“I don’t know where you’ll sleep now,” Meg said. “My house is comfortable for the seven Faces…”

“I’ll stay here,” Ryan said, glancing at Ray. “I’ll be fine with a few blankets.”

Meg pursed her lips, but nodded. She turned on her heel and hurried off for the first aid. As soon as she was gone, Geoff whirled to face Gavin with such intensity that Gavin hopped back as though Geoff had swung at him.

“What the fuck happened at the other safe house?” Geoff said. “Tell me everything.”

“Lawrence found us and brought a few hired goons,” Gavin said. “We thought all of Funhaus was attacking Shadow Team, but guess not.”

“How did he find it?” Geoff snapped. Jack put a hand on Geoff’s shoulder, and the tension in his body eased slightly. He still glared at Ryan, though, and Ryan saw his life flash before his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Gavin said quickly. “Any one of them might have followed Ray and Ryan. They could have tracked something magically. And before you throw your blame around, Meg checked Ryan for that when she got us and didn’t find anything.”

Geoff glanced at Jack. Jack shrugged. Geoff reached into the inside of his jacket and withdrew Ryan’s case of knives, and he wordlessly handed it over to Jack. Jack held his hand over it, but after a few moments, shook his head.

“They might’ve, but if they did, there’s nothing on it now.”

“Ugh, fine, whatever,” Geoff said, snatching the knives back and tucking the case back into his jacket. He jabbed his finger at Ryan. “We’ll deal with _you_ in the morning, too. If you’re bringing Funhaus here…”

“Aw, c’mon, Geoff,” Gavin said. “He’s clean and he was blindfolded on the way here.”

Geoff grumbled, but Meg returned with a large tin case, and he didn’t complain about Ryan any further. Jack took the tin from her and crouched next to Ray. Ryan watched silently as Jack peeled off Ray’s bandages, disinfected the wound, and rewrapped it. Ryan hadn’t notice Meg slip away again, and so he jumped when she came back with a tall glass of water and set it on the coffee table where Ray could easily see it when he woke up.

Jack pulled blankets over Ray’s small frame, slid Ray’s glasses off and set them next to the glass of water. Then he stood with a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

“Go upstairs,” Meg said. “You all need rest, too.”

“Yeah,” Geoff groaned. “Yeah, I know.”

Meg patted Geoff’s shoulder, and she encouraged them both back towards the stairs, a hand on each back. Gavin trailed just behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at Ryan just before they disappeared behind the wall. The light flicked off, and the only light was that of porch lights streaming through windows.

Ryan was alone with the sleeping Ray.

There was room at the end of the large couch for Ryan to sit, where Ray’s feet ended a full cushion before the arm. Ryan flopped heavily on this cushion and put his face in his hands. His thoughts were as crazy as a three-year-old with crayons. He leaned against the armrest, reached blindly out to find Ray’s leg and gently squeeze it. Still real. Still Ray.

Ryan shut his aching eyes. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know where he’d go, didn’t know how much his life has changed yet. And Ray…

 _I’m sorry, Ray_ , Ryan thought, his throat feeling tighter as the seconds ticked by. He knew Ray would be fine—they said he would be fine—but anxiety put its long fingers around his neck.

“I don’t care,” Ryan told Ray, as Ray slept soundly. “I don’t care that you lied about being a Reg. That you lied about your magic and the Crew. I don’t care. That doesn’t erase all the times we had together, all the support you’ve given me. I only care that you’re okay and that you’re my—my friend still. Ray, I…”

Ryan couldn’t speak anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut over hot tears, and he curled up on his small spot on the couch. He wasn’t leaving this spot until Ray woke up. Not a single force could make him.

* * *

 

Ryan eased into wakefulness like a tide receding. He woke up to the smell of coffee. He didn’t move at first, feeling already how his muscles had locked up in his awkward position, how his neck and back resisted even the tiniest movements. It was good that he was still, though, for he heard talking from the hallway. Talking that assumed he was still asleep.

“…just don’t know what to do, Jack,” Geoff said. His voice was heavy, like he hadn’t slept much, and his voice was far away. “Funhaus is pushing us hard. But what are they _searching_ for?”

“You heard Ray,” said Jack. “When he came back with Ryan. They seem to think one of us is…”

“But I’ve never fuckin’ _heard_ of anything like that,” Geoff said. “Magic without boundaries? Someone who can do anything, learn any spell—even heal? _Fly?_ ”

“Someone’s very good at keeping secrets if Funhaus is right,” Jack muttered. “But how would they even start _thinking_ that one of us is—”

Ray gave a little sigh and shifted on the couch, rolling onto his side. Ryan’s heart leaped. The conversation in the kitchen cut off abruptly, and Ryan took this opportunity to pretend to be woken up by Ray’s movement. Ryan groaned as he stretched, his muscles resisting all motion. Jack and Geoff were there in an instant, Geoff going straight to check on Ray as Jack lingered back.

Geoff definitely looked like he hadn’t slept, or at least hadn’t changed out of his clothes before passing out. Jacketless, his white shirt was hopelessly rumpled, and its sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Jack didn’t look too much better, but the garish tropical pattern on his shirt hid the wrinkles more.

“How are you feeling?” Geoff asked Ray in the gentlest voice Ryan had heard him use yet. Ray shifted and blinked up at them wearily.

“Headache,” Ray said. “Sleepy. But okay.”

Geoff patted Ray’s good shoulder, then stepped back. He turned to Jack and said, “You stay here and watch Ray—and the new guy. I’m going to go check on the other injuries.”

“Sure, Geoff,” said Jack. But Jack rolled his eyes when Geoff turned his back. Ryan stretched a bit more, trying to work out the kinks in his muscles, but could barely take his eyes off Ray. Ray caught his stare and flashed him a broad smile. Ray was okay. He was okay. As Geoff walked away, Jack helped Ray sit up and offered him the glass of water. Ray greedily sucked the water down.

“You’ll be fine,” Jack said as he perched on the edge of the couch, “but you’ll need a few weeks for your shoulder to heal. Which means no more sniping for you for a while.”

Ray made an ugly face.  “Sure, guess you don’t want cover.”

Jack chuckled, and Ryan blinked. Casually talking about sniping… This was something he was going to have to get used to, he supposed.

Even injured, though, Ryan gained a new appreciation for how Ray moved, how Ray glanced around the room. Ryan had always appreciated how Ray could slink, could duck out of eyesight like a glimpsed ghost. Now he had the context for why.

“Funhaus hit us hard,” Jack said. “We’re all going to lay low for the next couple weeks. Geoff’s gone to go check on the others. Matt’s probably going to need a better splint on his ankle. And other things, of course.”

“And what of what Funhaus wants?” Ray asked. “Did you guys find anything?”

Jack shook his head, but didn’t say at anything as he looked at Ryan. Ryan felt as though he should back up or cower under Jack’s gaze.

“Jack, come on,” Ray said. “Just update me. Ryan’s not gonna learn anything he can use against us—not that he’d do it.”

Jack sighed and shook his head again. “Gavin and Geoff and I searched the internet practically all night. Even Gavin couldn’t seem to find anything. But we didn’t know what to look for.”

Ray slumped back. “Great.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Jack. “For now—rest.” Jack ruffled Ray’s hair and stood. “Want some coffee? Toast?”

“Oh my god, please,” Ray said. “Does Meg have eggs?”

“Last time I checked,” Jack said. “I think we surprised her with our company, but there’s enough for a few omelets. Ryan, you want some?”

Ryan blinked. Sometimes he had to remind himself that these were criminals. “Uhhh, yeah, sure.”

Jack winked at him and retreated back into the house, crossed the hallway and entered the kitchen, which was just to the left of the front door. Soon, the sounds of cabinets opening and cast iron clinking were heard. Ray sipped on his water and watched Ryan run his fingers through his hair, try to hopelessly straighten his sleep-wrinkled shirt, then finally put his face in his hands.

“Yo,” said Ray. “Did you—apologize to me last night?”

Did someone pour lava on Ryan’s face?

“You—you heard that?”

Ray laughed and reached over to lightly punch Ryan in the arm. “I thought I was dreaming for a bit.”

Ryan chuckled and looked at the blank TV, eyes scanning the shelf underneath it. He heard the sound of sizzling from the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“I’m hard to kill,” Ray said, but then his bright smile fell. “I’m more worried about you. You and Gavin…”

“We held them off,” Ryan said. The smell of cooking eggs wafted from the kitchen, and his stomach twisted. Last night felt simultaneously a blur and in slow motion. Mostly, now, it just felt like a dream. “I uh, I got a couple lucky shots, and Gavin took care of the rest.”

Ryan’s pocket buzzed suddenly, and he jumped. He had forgotten about his phone. Ray giggled as he fumbled for his phone. It was a text from Jon—it was nearly ten in the morning.

>Don’t forget, asshole. Lunch.

Ryan glanced wide-eyed at Ray. “I have lunch with a friend at noon. Gavin said I’d be able to—I should go.”

Ray nodded slowly. “He’s right,” he said. “You can’t disappear. We’ll have someone tail you, and bring you back afterwards.”

Ryan’s laugh was short and staccato. “Yeah, I didn’t expect to be detained after our d—our day at the carnival.” He fell silent. He had almost said “date,” but he knew Ray didn’t consider it one. Ray appreciated him as a friend, and nothing else.

“You’ll be fine,” Ray said. “Leave your jacket and your mask, and Funhaus won’t even know where to look.”

“I know,” Ryan said. “I know, it’s just—everything.”

Ray watched him for a few seconds, then leaned forward to set his water glass on the table again. He scooched closer to Ryan on the couch and reached out with his good arm. Ryan leaned into the hug, and embraced Ray as hard as he dared with Ray’s injury. He’d been wanting to do this since Ray walked through the door. It felt safe, like an anchor for a ship.

“We’ll know what to do with you soon,” said Ray. “And then you’ll be able to go home.”

“Yeah,” said Ryan. His hands lay in his lap, pale against his dark jeans. His wound on his arm itched. Even remembering the adrenaline from last night made his hands quake. He clenched his hands into fists and met Ray’s eyes. “Home.”

Ray patted Ryan on the back. “Enjoy your lunch, buddy.”

* * *

 

When Ryan arrived at the café, Jon was waiting at a round black wire table outside, shaded by the table’s floral umbrella. Jon’s dark vest and nice purple shirt outshone Ryan’s wrinkled shirt and rumpled jeans, and his shoulder length black hair was combed where Ryan only managed to run his fingers through his hair.

Ryan glanced around. The street and the café were mildly crowded, as expected for a lunchtime rush. People milled about, no one really stopping. Almost every café table was filled—a romantic couple here, a small family with a toddler there, a group of friends here. What Ryan didn’t see was someone suspicious. He knew he would be watched by someone from the Crew. He didn’t know who. When Jack had dropped him off a block away, he happily informed Ryan that he wouldn’t recognize his follower (or followers).

As Ryan approached, he saw the small light of an artificial dead zone in one of the potted plants lining the café’s fence. It peeked out between the small leaves, a pinprick of bright blue. He understood why Jon liked this café a little better. That blue light, and no doubt others hidden around the café’s perimeter, meant that no one could magically eavesdrop on their conversation—and Jon hated eavesdroppers. For the first time, Ryan was grateful for Jon’s sometimes odd habits. His follower would have to be close to hear them now.

“I’m surprised you’re on time,” Jon said wryly, his arms crossed as Ryan pulled out a chair and sat down. Ryan’s choice of seat, across from Jon, put his back to the sidewalk. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder. Who was his follower? Was it the large man with a brown beard and the person with dark hair just beginning to gray? A person with a shock of short pink hair? The guy sketching in a notebook from the shade of his table’s umbrella?

Jon sniffed. “Looks like your date went well.”

“You _know_ it wasn’t a date,” Ryan said, unable to keep the slight tremble out of his voice. Then Jon’s implications hit him fully. His face heated like a thermometer in a sick kid’s mouth, and Jon cracked a smirk. “And it didn’t come to that!”

“Well, let’s see,” Jon said, beginning to count on his fingers. “You were up super late last night. Your clothes are wrinkled, which means you likely haven’t changed out of them since yesterday. You’ve got an odd light in your eyes. All of these point to an unplanned sleepover, and I know you don’t drink.” He shrugged and grinned. “But sure. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing did,” Ryan insisted. _At least, not like that_ , he added silently as he looked back at a woman with short curled hair. Was it her?

“And why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” Jon asked. “You seem skittish. You’re _never_ skittish.”

Ryan made an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt and opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Luckily, the waitress swept up to them then, handing them menus and beginning her spiel, so Ryan didn’t have to answer. Jon was distracted enough—or else he didn’t care enough—that he didn’t bring it up again. Ryan ordered his diet coke, and Jon stayed with his water.

“It _was_ your turn to pay,” Jon said, scanning the menu as the waitress left to fetch Ryan his soda. “But seeing as you’re fresh out of a disposable income, I guess I’ll cover you.” He flashed a grin at Ryan, and Ryan grimaced and scratched his head.

“Ahh, yeah,” Ryan said. “That job sucked but at least it was steady.”

“No kidding,” said Jon. “Glad I got out of there a long time ago. I’m surprised you stuck it out for so long.”

“You know,” Ryan said quietly. “Sometimes you just… get into a habit.”

“In all seriousness,” Jon said, folding his menu and leaning forward into the table.  His eyes gleamed. “How did the not-date to the carnival go? I want the deets.”

“It was…” Ryan hesitated, as though something, some anxiety, grabbed his jaw and laced it with cement for a few seconds. “It was a lot of fun. We played a lot of the games there. They were totally bullshit but we managed to win a little rubber duck. And we rode the Ferris wheel.”

“You hate the Ferris wheel,” Jon noted.

“I don’t _hate_ it,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes. “It’s usually just super boring. But with Ray it was… fun.”

“Ooo.” Jon grinned at him again, and the shade felt too hot now. At least it wasn’t as humid as yesterday. But now Ryan leaned forward. He had an idea.

“Jon,” Ryan said in a low voice. Jon tilted his head at the change in tone, and his grin slipped. “You do investigative journalism stuff, right?”

“Mostly the photography,” Jon said, “but the occasional article, yes. You know this.”

“Can you search for something for me? Something related to magic.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, settled back into his chair, and crossed his arms. “About magic, huh? Sure.”

“I think there’s a rumor of an Aug who has no limits,” Ryan said. “An Aug who can learn any spell, even _fly_ and  _heal_. Can you research that for me? I, uh—I tried last night, but I didn’t know what I was looking for.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Jon said, his smirk returning. “You don’t think like a journalist. Seems fascinating. Sure, I’ll do it.”

“But don’t publish anything,” Ryan said quickly, glancing around the crowd at the café. “Don’t write an article about it. Just—keep it between you and I.”

The smirk slipped again. “Ryan, are you okay? Is everything alright?”

Ryan blinked, and shook his head as if to clear it. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine, Jon.”

The waitress came back now, and the conversation stopped as she took their lunch orders. When she left, before Jon could bring it up again, Ryan said, “Didn’t you do something yesterday too? Hosted, like, a party for your office?”

Jon stared at him, silent for a few seconds, and Ryan feared Jon would dig into his well-being more. But then, Jon rolled his eyes and relaxed back into his chair.

“Oh my god, let me tell you. I helped host this thing and I organized a couple of games, and these idiots—it was like herding cats…”

Ryan exhaled and nodded along as Jon complained (lovingly) about his coworkers. Ryan’s new paranoia could be ignored for now. He made the conscious effort to not look over his shoulder so much. Ryan sat back and let Jon drive the conversation until the waitress came back with their food. With the food came more general topics, and the two of them chatted about the state of the city, debated the merit of cheese, and argued about whether it’s worth it to play those claw games at the arcade.

Near the end of their meal, something small and light hit the back of Ryan’s head. He twisted around to scan the sidewalk behind him, and his eyes immediately landed on Jack. Wearing a regular t-shirt and jeans instead of his garish tropical pattern, Jack looked just like a normal guy. Ryan shivered.

“I gotta get going,” Ryan told Jon.

“Aw, so soon? Baby, don’t go,” Jon said in a faux needy-movie-wife voice. Ryan chuckled. They both knew it had been about an hour.

Then Ryan sobered. “Listen,” he added quickly in a low voice. “That stuff I asked you to research—don’t text me your findings. Just say something like ‘I found something,’ and I’ll know what you mean.”

The brightness in Jon’s face faded, and Ryan got to appreciate how icy Jon’s eyes could get as they stared.

“Of course,” Jon said finally. Then he seemed to recover, and smiled again. “I have to wait for the check, but good bye!”

“Bye Jon!” Ryan stood up from the table and pushed his chair in. “Thanks for picking up lunch; I owe you one!”

“You owe me a lot more than that!” Jon called as Ryan headed off. Ryan merely laughed in reply.

Jack fell into step with Ryan as he started off down the sidewalk.

“He seems familiar to me,” Jack mused out loud. Ryan glanced back at Jon, who was already immersed in his phone, and didn’t reply. They rounded a corner. “Ah well,” Jack said with a shrug. “I’m sure Gavin will tell us all soon enough who this Jon is.”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. “You wouldn’t…”

Jack chuckled. “Oh no, it’s less trying to control people, and more Gavin’s a nosy little shit. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that he was the only one who knew about you and Ray before Ray dragged you to the apartment?”

“Didn’t come up in conversation,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, sometimes he gets a bit… stalker-y of people he likes, but he never digs too deep unless it’s needed. He kept you and Ray a secret from all of us—he just wants to _know_.”

“Great.” Wait, _likes?_ Ryan narrowed his eyes at Jack, who kept his gaze trained ahead. Had he really made that good an impression on Gavin already? Good enough that Gavin would shove his nose in Ryan’s business? Good impression or no, Ryan didn’t like the idea of Gavin prying. He didn’t like the idea of anyone from the Crew digging more into Ryan’s personal life and connections.

They passed by a news stand, selling magazines and newspapers, and Jack suddenly stopped. Ryan winced. One of Jon’s pictures was the front cover of a magazine, a portrait of some bigwig with white hair and a treasure map of wrinkles who lived in the city. Jon was proud of getting that one—it was an assignment of prestige.

“Oh my god,” Jack said, glancing between him and the news stand. “That’s where I—you’re friends with that journalist photographer. Jon whatshisface, Risemonger?”

“Risinger…” Ryan said quietly.

Ryan expected Jack to be angry, but when Jack spoke next, he sounded more impressed. “How in the world did someone like you cross paths with someone in his position?”

Ryan’s mouth twisted. He didn’t like what Jack implied about him. “The job I just got fired from?” Ryan admitted. “He was there at some point too. But he got lucky and landed a job at the magazine…”

Jack whistled and continued walking with Ryan. “This’ll be interesting, having you around. Gavin and Ray vouch for your weapon skill, and now you’ve got a strong connection to a news media outlet.”

“Wait until you learn I can juggle.”

Jack burst out laughing, throaty and hearty, surprising Ryan. He hadn’t been sure why he had said that, why he had joked, and he certainly didn’t expect Jack to humor him. Ryan sometimes had to remind himself that he was a prisoner right now. Even if it didn’t always feel like it… Jack almost seemed to treat him like a prospective employee. That distant friendliness that seemed warm, but also like a test.

Ryan stared at his feet as they walked. Where in the world did he stand with the Crew? Was he going to get out with all ten fingers? Or, heaven forbid, was he going to join them? Ray certainly liked him, and Gavin seemed to as well. Now Jack seemed to be measuring him up. What was going to happen to him?


	7. In Which Ryan Heads Home

Someone was waiting for Ryan and Jack when they arrived at Jack’s sleek black car, parked on a side street. Her hair was bright pink, her ruffled skirt black, her thigh highs cat-shaped. Her brilliant blue-green eyes stared Ryan down as they approached.

“Ryan, let me introduce you to Kdin,” Jack said. “She was your follower.”

Ryan remembered the pink hair from earlier, vaguely. How much did she hear?

“Jack, that café was a dead zone,” Kdin said, her lip curling. “Makes it very hard to do my job.”

Ryan’s heart thumped hard in his throat, but Jack said, “I trust you still did it. Get in the car, we’re heading to the safe house.”

Jack reached past Kdin and patted the hood of his car. The front passenger’s door and the backseat’s door popped open, and the engine revved. Ryan already heard the hiss of air conditioning. Kdin rolled her eyes and slid into the front seat, leaving Ryan the backseat. As soon as Jack and Ryan were seated, the doors slammed shut without assistance.

Kdin twisted in her seat and tossed a piece of black cloth at Ryan’s head—the blindfold he had worn on the way here, which he had left in the shotgun seat. Ryan caught it and scowled.

“Why didn’t I see you last night?” Ryan asked. “When the others arrived at the house.”

“Why are you so nosy?” Kdin shot back.

Jack chuckled. The car lurched—they were on their way. “Kdin just had another job last night. Ryan, if you could—the blindfold.”

“Right,” Ryan grumbled. Kdin watched him tie the black cloth around his eyes. Completely blind now, Ryan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. He tilted his head towards the window as though he could see outside it, just so he could glower like a surly teenager. He understood the need for the blindfold—if he knew exactly where the safe house was, he could theoretically lead cops to it—but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“Jack,” said Kdin. “He’s fucking pouting.”

Jack laughed so hard he started to wheeze, and Ryan felt the car slow down slightly.

The silence stretched on. The car ride felt far too long, and took so many turns Ryan couldn’t hope to memorize them, even if he wanted to. His lunch with Jon reminded him what he was missing. His restriction on his movements, on his words—already they were starting to grate on him.

“You know,” said Jack. “For someone who made his first kill last night—I’m assuming first?—you don’t seem wholly bothered by it.”

“It was,” Ryan said, “self-defense.”

“Still,” Jack said. But he didn’t say anything more about it, and the car once more fell silent.

_Should_ Ryan be more beat up about it? Innocent heroes in movies always seem really upset whenever they pull the trigger, even if it was the final moment—shoot the bad guy or else the bad guy shoots another hero. Ryan curled his fingers against his arms. He didn’t feel that way. He wasn’t like the tearful woman dropping the gun moments after saving the main character’s life. But movies weren’t real life… so what was normal?

All he knew was that he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He prized his own life more than someone willing to sell theirs into the line of fire. And being able to protect his life, being able to take theirs…

Ryan shook his head. He shouldn’t confuse adrenaline rushes with… other things.

* * *

 

Jack pulled the car into the house’s garage, so Ryan could take the blindfold off as soon as the engine shut off. It was a two car garage that, other than a Jack’s car and a minivan, only had a small refrigerator, a few bikes hanging from the ceiling near the back, and a large broom. Jack and Kdin walked behind Ryan, and though they didn’t touch him, Ryan still felt like they were guarding him.

Ryan heard the noisy chatter before he even opened the door. The garage door opened into the kitchen, and across the hallway in the living room where Ryan had slept last night, several people were crowded on and around the couch. They were playing a video game, and though Ryan couldn’t see the TV yet, he could tell it was a Nintendo 64 game by its unique three-prong controllers.

They were playing two people to a controller, and laughing and shouting at each other in turn. Michael and the blonde woman (who now had a brace on her left wrist) on one in the middle of the couch, Meg and Gavin on another at an end of the couch. Meg’s hair was no longer red, but purple, and she had dressed down today in a t-shirt and leggings. That’s right, Gavin had mentioned she specialized in Glamour magic; it would be a simple charm to change the color of her hair.

Jeremy was sharing his controller with the shaggy-haired man, whose leg was outstretched and in a splint. That man had to be Matt, if Ryan correctly remembered Jack’s words last night. They were the last two wedged onto the couch meant for four people. Jeremy’s purple jacket was tossed over the back of it.

And finally, Ray and the tall black-haired man sat in front of the couch sharing the fourth controller. Ray’s arm was in a sling—more a precaution so he didn’t jostle his shoulder. The other man had a bright bruise across one cheek, and a padded bandage taped to his forehead. The table in front of them all was absolutely littered with soda, beer bottles, and glass cups.

Meg heard the garage door open and was the one to lift an arm in greeting. She shoved the controller back at Gavin as she rolled off the couch to her feet.

“Wait, pause!” she said to the group, but didn’t stop to see if they did. She picked up something from next to the table and jogged over to greet Ryan.

She held out his leather jacket. Ryan took it wordlessly, fingers automatically going to the sleeve that had ripped. He didn’t find the hole, didn’t even find a hint that there used to be a hole.

“I fixed it!” Meg said, beaming. “Good as new.”

“I… Thank you.”

Meg waved her hand. Jack and Kdin pushed past the two of them, both of them disappearing deeper into the house.

“It was easy,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many times Jeremy has had to _beg_ me to fix his ugly jacket. At least Ray has good taste,” she added, casting a wicked glance back at the living room. Jeremy heard her and loudly whined “Hey!” in response. “But remember—you owe me.”

Ryan chuckled. “Yes, of course.”

“Well come on,” Meg said, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the living room. “Join us!”

_I am in a den of criminals,_ Ryan thought. _They have all killed people. Stolen maybe millions of dollars. Any of them could kill me in a second._

They were playing Mario Party 2.

“I see my cue,” said the black-haired man, letting go of his half of the controller and standing with a grunt.

“Yeah, Ryan, come be my second hand,” Ray called, waving frantically. “Trevor sucks at this game.”

“You put the blame wherever makes you feel better,” said Trevor, crossing his arms and smirking. He picked his way carefully around the table, stooping to grab a backpack next to it before approaching Ryan. He handed Ryan the backpack. “By the way, we got you a change of clothes from your apartment.”

“You broke into my apartment?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, you should get better locks. Yours is way too simple,” Trevor said with a grin. So matter-of-fact…

As Trevor retreated down the hall, Ray called, “Don’t worry, I was with him to make sure he didn’t dick around.”

“Thanks…” Ryan muttered.

Meg patted his arm. “Bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the left. We’ll wait for you if you want to clean up a bit. If you want a shower, spare towels are in the closet. Do you want a drink when you come back?”

“Diet coke,” Ryan said automatically. Was this kindness? Do kind people pick the lock on your apartment door?

Meg patted his arm again and returned to her spot on the couch, her steps light and bouncy until she flung herself back onto the couch—or rather, half on the couch and half on Gavin. Ryan shook his head and headed for the bathroom. Maybe things would seem less weird after a shower…

* * *

 

Things did not seem less weird after the shower. Regardless, Ryan felt refreshed, with clean hair and clean clothes. It would have been better to do this _before_ his lunch with Jon, but he supposed they needed time to break into his apartment. He wore a scowl all the way back to the living room until he sat down next to Ray. Ray’s presence, plus the unopened diet coke on the table in front of him, eased his mood.

“So what are we doing here?” Ryan asked. The game unpaused the moment he picked up the controller. Ryan wasn’t the biggest Nintendo fan, but he recognized the four characters. Ray was of course playing Waluigi. The other three characters included Wario, Birdo, and Mario.

“You’re in charge of control stick and these buttons,” Ray said, gesturing to half the controller. “I’ve got _these_ buttons.” He looped his good arm under Ryan’s and gently pried off Ryan’s other hand so that he could grip the controller. Ryan’s cheeks suddenly felt hot—the other pairs didn’t cross their arms like this. But this way, Ray wouldn’t have to worry about jostling his injured shoulder against Ryan.

They jumped into the game right away, and soon Ryan was swept up in the amicable atmosphere. He forgot that he was in a den of criminals, and instead accepted that he was in a house of friends. He felt the couch players kick and jolt as they cheered or groaned with wins and losses. Jeremy shoved against Michael more than once, and Michael retaliated in kind. Ryan pressed against Ray’s side perhaps more than was necessary, but Ray never pulled away.

Ryan couldn’t remember ever having as much fun playing a Mario Party game, even though he and Ray were put into fourth place three times by Michael and his blonde partner Lindsay. Time slipped by with ease, the hours on the clock underneath the TV flicking past with every other glance.

That is, until Geoff strode into the living room and tossed the skull mask at Ryan’s face. Ryan dropped the controller to catch it, and his sudden movement knocked his shoulder against Ray. He didn’t have time to feel guilty about it.

The game paused, its music and noise all but silencing completely, which meant Geoff’s words rang out.

“You’re free to go,” Geoff said. “Lindsay, take him home.

Ryan rubbed the latex mask with a thumb. Ray was very still next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell Ray was staring at the controller in his lap. “What—just like that?” Ryan asked.

“You’re lucky,” Geoff said. “You’ve seen the inside of two of our safe houses and are walking out with no consequences. Lindsay, drive him home.”

“Oh,” said Lindsay. “Well alright.”

Ryan stood. “Am I never going to see Ray again?”

Geoff rolled his eyes before he turned on his heel and marched back down the hallway. Ryan turned to look at Ray, who got to his feet with a frown.

Jack appeared from the hallway and entered the living room, closing the distance between him and Ryan. He handed Ryan the slim box of throwing knives. There was a small line between Jack’s eyebrows, giving him an exasperated look.

“Sorry about Geoff,” Jack said. “Ryan, we decided you weren’t any threat, and didn’t know anything you might use against us later. You do have to go, but I’ll give you a few minutes with Ray. You can talk in the kitchen. Lindsay, when they’re ready, you can take my car.”

“Aye aye, Jack,” Lindsay said, giving him a lazy salute.

Jack left the room. Ryan shrugged into his leather jacket and tucked the knives into its pocket. He picked up the backpack and let Ray lead him to the kitchen. They stood in sight of the living room, but far enough away that low voices wouldn’t be heard.

“How are you feeling?” Ray asked quietly. “After all of— _this_.” He gestured to the kitchen, the living room, _everything._

“Surprisingly well,” Ryan admitted. “The weirdest thing is how… normal you all are.”

“Ah ha, you haven’t seen us in a real firefight,” Ray said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Then he forced himself to stand still. “But you, the other safe house…”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Ryan said. “Don’t you worry about my little psyche. I’ve had lots of time to think about it, and I’m fine.”

Ray smiled up at him, then averted his gaze. Ryan cleared his throat.

“I’m—I’m gonna see you again, right?” Ryan asked.

“Probably,” Ray said, meeting his eyes again. “I used your apartment as a hideout for—well—a long time. And Geoff doesn’t seem to think we’re plotting a coup anymore. Somehow you passed like, every fucking test he threw at you.”

The corner of Ryan’s mouth twitched. “He seems rather paranoid about me.”

Ray sighed and glanced back towards the couch. The six others were chatting amongst themselves. Trevor had come back and sat on the arm of the couch next to Matt and Jeremy. “We’re family, Ryan. You’d be the closest new person in… a while.”

“Close because of you,” Ryan said. Ray nodded. Ryan’s palms were growing sweaty against his mask as he gripped it tightly. He had thought he and Ray were closer than anything, but… “Ray, I meant it when I said I didn’t want a life without you in it.”

Ray looked at him with wide eyes. After a beat, he said, “As friends.”

Ryan only hesitated for a second. He already knew this, but Ray apparently needed the clarification anyway. It made his chest squeeze around his heart. With Ray searching for the answer in Ryan’s eyes, he could appreciate how dark Ray’s own eyes were. The special kind of black that looked endless. Ryan loved them. And it hurt to know he’d never be brave enough to confess that.

Because he could take a hint.

“You’re the closest friend I have. Please don’t—hang out less often now.”

Ray lurched forward suddenly and threw his good arm around Ryan. “I’m sorry you went through this,” he said into Ryan’s shirt. “The carnival… I basically kidnapped you… then the safe house, and the blindfold…”

“I’d do it all again if it meant you were safe,” Ryan said. “But,” he added, a chuckle building in his chest. “I’d rather be _invited_ to your house next time.”

Ray snorted and pulled back from the hug. “I’ll try. I’ll hopefully see you soon, but for now—goodbye. Safe travels.”

Ryan nodded. Ray waved at Lindsay, who planted a kiss on Michael before getting up from the couch. Ray jammed his hand into his hoodie’s pocket and scuffed a heel against the floor.

“See you,” Ryan said.

And that was that.

Ray retreated back to the living room, and Lindsay led Ryan into the garage. They crossed through the dim light, and when Lindsay got into the driver’s seat, Ryan slowly slid into the passenger’s seat. He gave her enough time to order him to the back seat, but she didn’t say anything, so he quickly shut the door and buckled his seatbelt. He reached around for his discarded blindfold.

“I literally do not give a shit if you’re blindfolded,” Lindsay said.

“But Geoff—”

Lindsay threw her head back to laugh as she revved the engine. “Geoff and Jack are paranoid little bitches. They haven’t seen you and Ray at the same time. You’d _never_ sell him out.”

Ryan’s cheeks burned furiously. “Maybe I’m a really good weasel,” he said. “Maybe I want to bring the whole team down and Ray is my way in.”

Lindsay barked a laugh again. “Right. Not only would we catch your ass the moment you tried something nasty, you can’t fake all that. Like, holy fuck dude, it’s like watching a kitten sit in the rain staring into the house he’s locked out of. You wouldn’t do anything that would hurt him.”

Ryan put his face in his hands. “Is it that obvious?” he mumbled.

He wished Lindsay would stop snickering.

The car reversed out of the garage and down the driveway. Lindsay jabbed at the radio, allowing pop music to filter through the car. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. The sun had set a couple hours before, and Ryan didn’t recognize the dark streets, lit only by intermittent lamps. It was a kindly suburban neighborhood—nestled away from Los Santos’s high crime rate. Did the people living here know that some of the most wanted criminals of Los Santos lived right next door sometimes?

“I do have to admit,” Ryan said. “You’re all shockingly normal.”

“Aw,” Lindsay said, flashing him a smile. “That’s sweet of you. We _are_ still people… I think. But you ain’t seen nothing yet, buddy.”

Ryan cracked a smile and stared back at the mask in his lap. Its dark gray latex was but a mere lump of shadows. They drove in silence for a good while with nothing but the sweet dulcet tones of the latest trashy single between them. Ryan felt when they got on the highway as the car picked up speed. For some reason, Ryan couldn’t bear to look out the window. The city was too vast, too overwhelming. Instead, he memorized how the passing streetlamps swept their light through the car. He hoped he would still see Ray just as often.

“Listen,” Lindsay said suddenly, her voice surprisingly level and gentle. “You’re just as important to Ray as you are to him. He’s just a bit confused and scared. Give him time, and don’t worry too much about it.”

Ryan glanced at her. “Is that obvious, too…?” he asked in a low voice.

“No,” said Lindsay. “But I see it. In both of you.”

Ryan opened his mouth, but hesitated and closed it again. He wanted to ask Lindsay what Ray was confused and scared _about_ , but he figured it wasn’t Lindsay’s answer to tell. Still, he supposed he should thank Lindsay for trying to comfort him. He opened his mouth again.

“Oh shit!” Lindsay cried, eyes locked on the road ahead.

She ripped at the steering wheel, and the world careened onto its side.

 


	8. In Which Things Get a Little Hot

Ryan groaned. His head pounded, and something hot and sticky clumped on the hair of his temple. He tasted steely blood on his lip, and his shoulder ached. The car was upside down, and the skull mask lay deflated just above his head. The roof of the car now underneath the backseats was dented as though some monster punched it in.

He groaned again and looked at the driver’s seat. Lindsay’s seatbelt kept her in her seat as well. Her head lolled wearily, and her forehead was bleeding, but she was conscious. Her bright blonde hair pooled against the ceiling of the car.

Think, think, he had to think. He heard voices, one commanding others. A bit distant, not right nearby yet, but he recognized the voice from the carnival. He couldn’t be seen like this. His face couldn’t be associated with the Crew. He groped for the mask and pulled it over his head.

It was a form of comfort. He could steady his breathing, and his vision didn’t wildly roam as much. He could think. Somewhat.

He shouldn’t be hanging upside down anymore. That was not helping. He heaved himself up so that he wouldn’t fall on his head or neck, then hit the release button on the seatbelt. He fell onto his upper back, and after a bit of squirming, managed to get his legs on the same plane as his torso, his feet underneath the headrest.

“Lindsay,” Ryan pleaded. He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. “Lindsay, wake up. It’s Funhaus.”

Lindsay moaned and ran a trembling hand through her hair. She blinked at Ryan. “Glove box,” she said as she started to work on her own seatbelt.

Ryan fumbled for the glovebox, and it popped open under his fingers. A skinny black pistol and two magazines slid and caught on the lip of the lid.

“It’s already loaded,” Lindsay said. “Just have to cock it—Ah, fuck.”

The seatbelt finally released her, and she thumped heavily to the roof of the car. Her bangs were sticking to the cut on her forehead.

“Take it,” she said when Ryan had made no move to grab the gun. “If what I heard is right, you’re a much better shot than me.”

“You trust me?”

“I trust Ray and Gavin,” Lindsay said.

Ryan grabbed the gun and cocked it. It was cold.

The voices were right nearby now. Ryan saw feet through the crushed windshield and met Lindsay’s eyes just before the driver’s door was ripped open.

Ryan didn’t wait to watch Lindsay get yanked out. He kicked open his door and rolled out to crouch behind the car. They were in the middle of a highway in the middle of night, and headlights poured onto their overturned car. Three different cars of three different sizes—Funhaus’s cars?—parked on the highway in front of them.

“I got her,” said James from the other side of the overturned car. “One of you go get the other guy!”

Ryan heard footsteps stomping and shot up before they could round around the car. He automatically pointed the gun at where he had heard James, and the world hesitated.

James faced Lindsay with his arm outstretched, a bandage wrapped around his other arm where Ryan’s knife had got him. She stood a few feet away from him, but her arms were pinned to her side by some invisible force, and occasionally she would squirm as though bound by ropes. If Ryan squinted, he could see a faint shimmer surrounding her. Magic.

Adam was standing back from them all, an assault rifle in his arms. The man closest to Ryan had a thick brown beard and wore a padded vest. He had a pistol out, like Ryan, but had a few knives strapped to his upper thigh.

“Ohh,” crooned James. “It’s the little _vagabond._ Adam, Peake, you take care of Lindsay. I want to have some quality time with our _friend_.”

James’s eyes gleamed, and his friends didn’t argue. Was it revenge for the knife wound? Adam and the one in the vest—Peake? Another strange name—retreated from Ryan and gravitated towards Lindsay.  Ryan kept his gun trained on James as the criminal sauntered around the overturned car. As soon as he was a few paces away from Lindsay, the magic surrounding her dissipated. She could hardly grab a breath before Adam and Peake were in front of her. Ryan glared at James; he would have to keep an eye on Lindsay through peripheral vision.

James rounded the front of the car, and Ryan suddenly struggled to keep the gun pointed at him. It was as though someone much stronger than Ryan was gripping his wrist, his hand and gun. He fought against the force, his whole arm straining against it. The shimmer he had seen around Lindsay was now around his hand.

“Nice, isn’t it?” James said, smirking. “My telekinetic spells might not have much range, but they sure are strong.”

Sweat dampened Ryan’s forehead, and the wound at his temple burned. James stepped closer, only a pace or two away, and paused. The force strengthened, coaxing the gun up and to the side. Ryan used his other hand to help push against the force. His muscles shook with the effort. The gun rattled. Despite it all, the gun slowly tilted, turned. James was trying to get Ryan to point the gun at himself.

James took another step, fully grinning now. The blue of his eyes reflected bright in the cars’ headlights.

“A lowly noob,” James sneered. “A fresh vagabond who didn’t exist until two days ago. Somehow managed to best four of us and run away with both his friend _and_ his identity. And then kill every hired goon we sent after him.”

Definitely revenge. Ryan’s muscles screamed fire, and his head felt hot and his face slick with perspiration. Distantly, sirens howled. He was vaguely aware of Lindsay’s situation—she was being restrained by Peake and interrogated by Adam, and they were demanding information. Who was she hiding? They _know_ there’s an Aug of immense power among them. Who was it?

It took every ounce of strength to resist James’s telekinesis. The gun still slowly inched back, his elbow still slowly bent with it, lest his arm snap. A muscle in his jaw threatened to pull for how hard he was clenching his teeth. He growled. Adrenaline fueled his heart, a mixture of fear and anger. He did not want James to get the better of him. Not here, not now, not ever.

Ryan _roared_ , the wordless cry of a man giving it his all, and with a last surge of strength he yanked his hand out of James’s magical grip. James staggered back, his wide eyes even wider, as his spell shattered. James flinched as Ryan swung the gun around, but Ryan didn’t point it at him.

No hesitation, no time to feel bad about it, Ryan squeezed the trigger and shot three bullets at Adam. One missed, one buried into his arm, and one skimmed over the skin of his back. Adam yelped, his assault rifle slipping from his grasp but not quite dropping. Before the shots stopped echoing, Ryan snapped the muzzle to Peake, but Lindsay had already taken advantage of his intervention. She rammed her elbow into Peake’s midsection, then brought it back and swung it into his nose.

And then something heavy collided into Ryan. The gun was flung out of his hand, skittered away somewhere on the highway. Ryan raised his hands in defense as James pinned him to the ground with his weight and slammed a fist into his head. The mask cushioned the punch a little, but stars still popped in front of Ryan’s vision. He couldn’t stop the gasp from pushing past his teeth.

And then hands curled around his throat and squeezed. He fought against it, pulled and slapped at the arms cutting off his breathing. James loomed over him, teeth bared, and then Ryan’s arms were yanked away, pinned to the ground by James’s magic. He couldn’t breathe, and he was fading fast. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

“You just don’t know when to quit,” James hissed. “You don’t know when you need to take some punishment.”

Ryan couldn’t make any noise, couldn’t move. So with his last seconds of consciousness he merely looked James dead in the eye and didn’t flinch. His fixed glare seemed to affect James, and his eyes alighted with anger.

Until Lindsay vaulted over the overturned car and tackled James. The hands let go of Ryan’s throat and he gasped, his mind clearing with each desperate gulp of air. He coughed and rolled onto his side, massaging his neck, as Lindsay grappled with James. Ryan rolled to his knees, hand going to his pocket. Now was not the time to be useless. He pulled out one of his knives and stood just as Lindsay and James both got to their feet.

Ryan felt unsteady, and the world felt like a tilt-a-whirl _just_ starting its spin, but he planted his feet. James glared at both him and Lindsay as he considered his options. It would be two versus one, but…

“I’ll take both of you,” James snarled. “I’ll kill you both!”

“James,” called a soft voice. Ryan didn’t expect such a mild voice, and glanced to its source. Peake was supporting Adam, who was having trouble holding his head up. Blood streamed from Peake’s nose and into his beard. “We have to go.”

“We can take them!” James shouted. “We can…!”

Peake only had to shake his head to cut him off. James bared his teeth. Ryan could almost _see_ the fire alight in his eyes. James brought his arms into his chest, and then with a hoarse shriek thrust them out again. The telekinetic magic burst from is center, and the force hit Lindsay and Ryan like a truck. The wind flew out of Ryan’s lungs as they were both tossed down the street.

The concrete felt like another punch from James. Ryan rolled and didn’t want to get up. His entire body felt bruised, and he heaved for breath. But Lindsay was up quickly and was pulling at him.

“We’re making our grand escape,” she said. “Come on, you lump.”

Reluctantly, Ryan staggered to his feet, and Lindsay started running. He sprinted after her, but spared a glance behind him. He saw James stoop to pick up Adam’s assault rifle and point it at them as Peake watched on with a patient, blank expression.

Ryan didn’t have time to say anything, but he looked at Lindsay and she seemed to understand. She grabbed his arm and together they leaped over the highway divider, ducking as bullets rang out, peppering the night sky. Concrete chipped all around them, and a passing car honked and swerved.

Several seconds later they were at a safe distance, but they didn’t stop sprinting until they reached an off-ramp, and started jogging down it. Ryan’s lungs burned, and his head swam. At the bottom of the ramp, he had to pause and put his hands on his knees, hunching over in a frail attempt to catch his breath.

Lindsay hung back. “We have to keep moving,” she said. “Hide away somewhere until we can get picked up.”

“I’m gonna fucking pass out,” Ryan wheezed.

“What, from a little running?” Lindsay complained.

Ryan shook his head and winced. It was as though the burning effort from resisting James earlier hadn’t abated. His head felt like a bucket of lava, his lungs a scorched earth. His vision swam. Lindsay edged closer.

“You might be concussed,” she admitted. She offered her arm. “We do have to move, though. Come _on._ ”

Ryan leaned on Lindsay as they walked quickly underneath the highway. The off-ramp dumped them near a clump of small commercial business buildings on a street of similar buildings. Their windows were dark, and they definitely weren’t as nice as _some_ establishments the city had to offer—their bricks were dirty, their roofs an ugly brown, the tiny shared parking lot could support maybe ten cars. But they offered a hiding place.

Heat prickled across Ryan’s skin, and the world tilted. The moment they reached a narrow space between two buildings, he stumbled and fell to his knees. Gray stars melted holes in his vision. He gripped the cracked asphalt, his hands crushing small weeds. Maybe he was concussed, maybe he wasn’t, but he didn’t think feeling feverish was one of the typical symptoms.

“Holy shit dude,” Lindsay said. “You’re burning _up._ You weren’t kidding—you’re seriously gonna pass out.”

“Yep,” Ryan said. He had to squeeze his voice out. “Good bye.”

Hot darkness wrapped around his head, and he was gone.

* * *

 

The earth rumbled beneath him, a steady rattle of movement punctuated by the shudder of bumps and potholes. Gentle fingers stroked his hair. His head still burned, his thoughts felt lined in cotton on a sweltering summer day. He squinted so that he could open his eyes, but passing streetlights were still like staring into the sun. Every lamp made him flinch.

He realized he was lying across the back seat of a car—and across the laps of the people sitting in it. Ray was stroking his hair, looking down at him with concern lining his eyes.

“Hello, handsome,” Ryan mumbled. He couldn’t stop his voice from cracking and wavering. His limbs felt like lead, and if it wasn’t for his pounding migraine he would fall immediately back asleep.

“Dear God, he’s delirious!” Jeremy exclaimed from the front passenger seat.

“Alright,” Ray deadpanned. “Asshole.”

Michael snickered, the laughter coming from around Ryan’s feet. Whoever was between Michael and Ray shifted and leaned forward.

“How are you feeling now?” It was Lindsay, moving so that Ryan could see her with minimal effort. The cut on her forehead was covered in a large band-aid. Her face blurred for a moment.

“Why ociffer I’m doing just fine,” Ryan slurred. “Nothing to drink all night, I promise.”

“I fucking told you,” Geoff said from the driver’s seat. “He’s faking so that we’d take him back. He’s a terrible actor.”

“Hey!” Ryan protested. “Not true, I was great before!”

“He did theater when he was younger,” Ray clarified. “He’s still burning up, Geoff. No one’s this hot and lying.”

“I’m glad you sink tho,” Ryan said. Ray took his hand off Ryan’s head just so he could rub his own forehead and sigh.

A pause.

“Whatever,” Geoff grumbled. Ryan could only make out a shadow, but he saw Geoff hunch over the steering wheel.

“Do you think he's contagious?” Michael asked.

“He’s not coughing, not sneezing or puking,” Lindsay said. “He’s literally just feverish. And maybe a little loopy from the fight? I don’t know. Jack should look at him.”

“So he’s faking a concussion, and using a fever as an excuse,” Geoff grumbled.

“You didn’t see how suddenly it came on,” Lindsay said. “We were running away, getting to a hiding spot, and he just… stumbled.”

Ryan found out that he _could_ move his arm—he just hadn’t been trying hard enough. He groped at Ray’s hand and pulled it back to his hair. Ray’s eyebrows shot up, but he snorted, a smile playing on his lips.

“Alright,” he said again, and resumed stroking Ryan’s hair. It felt so nice… It lessened his headache and made him feel sleepy again. He quickly dropped off the edge of consciousness and fell back asleep under Ray’s gentle fingers.

When he woke up again, he was in a bed. And freezing. The style of the room made him think he was back at Meg’s house. He shivered and curled up tightly under the cold covers. He felt like he was sleeping outside in winter.

A hand felt his forehead, hot like an iron. Ray was sitting on the edge of the bed. When did he get there?

“He’s freezing now,” said Ray. “All cold and clammy.”

“I’ll get the electric blanket,” said Meg from somewhere in the room. It felt like an instant later, a heavy warm blanket was draped over him. _Maybe_ his sense of time was warped. The heat was nice, like a fireplace, but Ryan still shivered, and his head still felt wrapped in wool.

“How’s that?” Ray asked.

Ryan hunkered down and shook his head by rubbing his forehead into his pillow.

Gavin spoke from the other side of the bed. “How about some body heat?”

Ryan tightened the blanket around his shoulders. His muscles were aching from shivering, and he closed his eyes. “I don’t care,” he chattered. He shut his eyes. Even his voice felt weak and tired. “I’m fucking cold.”

“ _Gavin_ ,” Ray whined. “Seriously?”

The bed trembled. Ryan could almost hear the sly look in Gavin’s eye as the blanket lifted up and a body sidled up to his back. “Two are better than one, Ray. Come on.”

“Just because Jack said he’s not sick with disease doesn’t mean…”

An arm draped over Ryan. Ray cut off and paused.

“Alright, fine,” he said finally.

Ryan opened his eyes again to watch Ray take off his glasses, climb into bed with him and scooch closer. Ray carefully avoided his gaze and positioned himself so that his head was below Ryan’s chin, low enough that they wouldn’t collide. Ray didn’t put his arms around him like Gavin did, but he huddled close enough to share his body heat. Ryan wondered if Ray could hear how fast his heart was thumping. But he was warm, finally. He let his eyes drift shut and snuggled deeper into his pillow and blankets. Cozy.

When he woke up next, Gavin had snuck out, but Ray had fallen asleep next to him. Ryan felt good as new; sleeping for who knows how long seemed to have cured whatever had been ailing him—though now he was parched and starving.

However, those needs did not seem so bad in this moment.

Ray was sleeping _next_ to him. Ryan thought he might melt through the bed. Or maybe ascend to heaven right there. Ray’s dark eyelashes rested against his cheek so delicately. His hair was fluffed up a bit from sleep, and he breathed steadily and deeply. Ryan resisted the urge to lift his hand and smooth Ray’s hair down.

But he didn’t want to make it awkward for Ray. He inched back, reluctantly giving up his warm spot, and sat up slowly to look around the room. Now that he wasn’t delirious, he could actually pay attention to his surroundings.

The queen-sized bed had a rich carmine comforter, and the walls were painted a pale brown. There wasn’t much other furniture—it seemed like a guest bedroom—but there were still white wood tables on either side of the bed, each with a lamp, and a couple nice paintings hanging on the walls. Ryan’s phone and mask as well as a small first aid kit were on the table closest to him, and his jacket lay draped on a white chair in the corner.

Ray awoke and yawned. He rolled onto his back to stretch before seeming to remember where he was. He shot up and had already tossed the blankets off of him before he realized Ryan was awake and watching him.

Ray cleared his throat and avoided looking at Ryan by hunting for his glasses on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good as new,” Ryan said. Ray found his glasses and put them on. He sighed and finally looked at Ryan.

“You really scared us,” he said. “Your temperature was all _over_ the place. And then sometimes you’d be awake but you just… didn’t respond. Just _watched_. Jack thought you had a bit of a concussion but… Well, there was nothing to do but let you sleep.”

“How long was I out?” Ryan asked.

Ray blew air out through puffed cheeks and ran a hand through his hair, looking over to the closed bedroom door. “It’s been almost 24 hours since you and Lindsay were on the highway. We got _some_ fluids into you, but you were out for so long we were worried we’d have to get you a fucking… _IV drip_.”

“That explains how hungry I am,” Ryan said. Ray flashed him a grin.

“You do sound and look a lot better,” Ray admitted. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll go tell the others you’re up. Maybe get you some food from the kitchen.”

Ray swung his legs off the bed and stood. He headed for the door, but it opened before he even got there, revealing Geoff and Jack behind it. The crime boss and his second hand man entered the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” said Geoff, before sighing and continuing. “Ryan Haywood, how would you like a job.”


	9. In Which Ryan Gets a Job Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a little bit harder to write than some of the previous chapters x.x   
> Welp, enjoy!

“A—a job?” Ryan repeated. He glanced at Ray, whose wide-eyed stare was the only part of his otherwise carefully neutral expression that showed his surprise. “What—what kind of job?”

Geoff sighed again and rolled his eyes at Jack like a teenager being forced to apologize. Jack nudged him.

“Funhaus has been making moves against us in more ways than one recently,” admitted Geoff. “We need to push back or risk losing land. We could use an extra skilled hand in an… operation.”

“An operation.”

“Against my better judgment,” Geoff said, crossing his arms, “ _some_ of us seem to think you are a good idea.”

“You want to _actually_ hire me?” Ryan asked, his bewilderment making his voice pitch higher. “As a mercenary?”

Ray’s eyes were no longer wide, but though his expression remained seemingly neutral, there was something hard and angry about the way his jaw was set, about the way he looked at everyone else.

Ryan considered his options. He didn’t exactly have any other jobs lined up. He was apparently pretty good at this whole thing anyway, and it meant he wouldn’t have to leave Ray forever. And… dare he admit it… he was actually kind of enjoying his taste of this life. He certainly didn’t get this thrill, this sense of power, from his boring office jobs.

“What would you need me to do?” he asked slowly.

Ray suddenly moved, striding past Jack and Geoff with his hands balled into fists. Ryan’s heart dropped. Oh dear—Ray was mad. Geoff rolled his eyes again and turned.

“Jack, you take over. I’ll go deal with him.”

Geoff disappeared into the hallway before Jack could argue, making him sigh. Jack leaned against the doorway and looked at Ryan.

“It won’t be for a couple weeks,” Jack said. “But some of their drug dealers have been getting ballsy and moving onto our turf. We have the location of one of their warehouse bases, and we’re gonna clear them out. Make an example of these sorry goons. Until then, we’ll refine those skills of yours that you already have, and teach you some new ones.”

Ryan grinned despite himself, and Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sounds good,” Ryan said.

“Right,” said Jack, straightening and putting a hand on the doorknob. “You should rest more. I’ll bring you up a meal.”

Jack closed the door behind him, leaving Ryan alone. He looked at his hands. The thought of all this—helping out the _Crew_ , using his knives more, waving the middle finger at death—it made him feel all jittery, all wired. He couldn’t stop grinning.

Until the door opened again, and instead of Jack returning with food, it was Ray carrying a tray with a sandwich, a glass of water, and a diet coke on it. He slipped inside and nudged the door shut with his foot. He approached the bed and sat down on its edge, setting the tray down between him and Ryan.

“I’m sorry for storming out,” he said quietly. “It’s just—I didn’t know they’d offer to hire you as a mercenary, and I didn’t fucking know you’d _accept_ it.”

“Why is it such a problem?” Ryan asked gently. “I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

Ray rubbed his finger in little circles on the bedsheet, making wrinkles and smoothing them down again. “Most of us here, we didn’t get a choice. Crime was our only way to survive. To make headway in life. Michael and I—we grew up together on the streets. In the bad part of town in a city you’ve never been in. We had no hope of getting legitimately out of there. We weren’t smart enough to get out with a scholarship, and there weren’t good enough jobs for us to save up money. We teamed up and lit up the town until we got out and moved around. Eventually we ended up here, and I had long lost count of how many times we came close to losing each other.

“But you _have_ a choice. You could still go back home, and get a new job and have a salary and _not_ have to put your life on the line to get cash, to protect your ‘territory.’”

The jitteriness from before seeped out of Ryan, leaving him sobered and cowed. But he didn’t want to change his mind. He _knew_ it was a dangerous life.  He knew there was no turning back—if he owned this life, he wouldn’t be able to ever return to a normal one. Not without some crazy loopholes and law dodging, and probably a new identity.

“I know,” he said finally. “But I’ve made my choice, Ray. My old life _sucked_ the life out me—you were one of the only things I ever looked forward to. I can’t just _return_ to that. It—it wasn’t a life worth living.”

Ray fidgeted with the tray, making sure it was perfectly parallel with the bed.

“So you just—you’re doing it for the thrill,” he said.

“I guess that’s a part of it,” Ryan admitted. “I know it’s stupid, but…”

Ray flashed him a smile. “That’s what Michael always says,” he said. “Says it’s the best lifestyle for staying sharp, for staying on your toes.” But then the smile dropped, and Ray seemed to be searching Ryan’s eyes. “Ryan, you’re not—you’re not doing this because of me. Are you? You’re not going into this because you think it means we’ll be, I dunno, _closer._ ”

Ryan studied Ray’s face. He had a neutral mask on again, but he saw the cautious curiosity in Ray’s dark eyes. Ray wanted to make sure _he_ wasn’t pulling Ryan down a criminal rabbit hole just by being a friend—just by being _there._ That was a lot of responsibility for someone. If true, it would mean that Ray would be guilty every time Ryan got hurt, every time the law or death swept too close.

After a pause, he said, “I made my choice for _me_. I’m not stupid enough to change my life for one person. But you’re, shall we say, an added bonus that doesn’t hurt.”

Ray snorted, and Ryan grinned to see Ray accept that answer. He meant it, after all. They didn’t say anything for a few moments, just looked at each other with brightness in their eyes. Ryan could look at Ray for hours. It felt like Ryan’s heart swelled with emotion, and he suddenly had a strong desire to kiss Ray, to feel his lips against Ray’s.

Ryan averted his gaze.

“I’ll let you eat,” said Ray, shifting back.

“You don’t have to leave,” Ryan said immediately. Ray hesitated. “I mean, like, I don’t have anything to do. I would love your company.”

Ray smiled. “Alright,” he agreed. “I can go get a laptop, and we can watch a movie?”

“Don’t get lost,” Ryan said.

Ray laughed and chuckled all the way out the door. Once gone, Ryan reached for the tray carrying his meal with snug warmness settled in his chest. It was a cozy feeling, a confidence in the other’s quick return. He chugged half the water before slowing. A feeling like home.

Someone softly rapped their knuckles against the doorframe. Lindsay leaned against the frame. Medicinal tape held the cut on her forehead closed, and her wrist brace was replaced with a new one.

“I heard you were awake, finally,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ryan said. “Haven’t eaten anything in a while, but I’m working on it.”

Lindsay laughed.

“I was… offered a job to stay,” Ryan added.

“You saved three of us after all,” Lindsay said. “First time was Ray—which, okay, he was your friend. Second time was Gavin, but maybe it was a fluke. But now, you saved me. Instead of shooting the man in front of you, you shot the man in front of me and gave me the edge I needed to get the upper hand.”

Ryan’s heart suddenly skipped a beat, and one hand went to touch his throat. Lindsay flashed him a smile.

“We could use a man like you,” she said. “Someone who tips the field in favor of the team rather than just themselves. That sort of protection on the field is important.”

Ryan massaged his throat and looked at his meal tray. He didn’t feel like these character analyses were accurate. “It happened so fast. I’m pretty sure I was trying to free you just to help myself. So that I wouldn’t have to deal with it on my own.”

Lindsay laughed again. “That’s what the _field_ is, Ryan. That’s why we’re a _Crew_ and not just a mix of individual criminals. By working as a team we bring ourselves further than we could alone. _Maybe_ you could have defeated them one vs. three. But the odds wouldn’t have been great for you _or_ me. Besides,” she added. “Funhaus already seems to think we’ve hired you. Why not make it a reality?”

“You vouched for me,” Ryan realized. “That’s why Geoff…”

“Yep,” she said, fully beaming and seeming on the edge of laughter. “Me and Gav both, and he couldn’t ignore _that._ ”

Lindsay perked up like she heard something and looked back at the hallway. A few seconds later, Ray joined her, a laptop under his arm. Lindsay quirked an eyebrow.

“Ah, the good old Netflix and chill, I see. I’ll leave you two alone.”

She shot Ryan a sly look as she ducked out of the room. Ray hovered in the doorway for a few moments, his cheeks blotched red, before closing the door and carrying the laptop to the bed. Ryan gave him a respectful distance; his own face felt rather warm.

“I’ve got a great movie in mind,” Ray said. “I think you’ll love it.”

“Oh really,” Ryan said. “Pray tell, what is it called?”

Ray grinned. Any previous awkwardness melted away with his smile. “ _Dungeons and Dragons_. It’s good, I promise. Right up your nerdy little alley, too.”

Ryan chuckled and pulled the meal tray into his lap as Ray plugged in the computer and turned it on. “If you’re lying to me,” Ryan threatened lightly, “I won’t let you win next time we play Mortal Kombat at the arcade.”

Ray snorted. “Right. _Let._ ”

Ryan made an ugly face at Ray, which only made him laugh again as he hit play.

Turned out, Ray _was_ lying. The movie was awful—and yet, it was an enjoyable type of awful, and he and Ray were chatting and giggling about it as it played. Ryan even thought this was even more fun than if they watched a genuinely good movie. The warmth in Ryan’s chest from before was back. The warmth of home, all bundled up inside him. He sighed happily. The only way this would be more perfect would be if he could just put his arm around Ray and pull him closer…

Someone knocked at the door, and it cracked open before either of them could say anything. Michael ducked his head in. Ryan quickly paused the movie.

“Wow, you guys are loud,” Michael said with a shit-eating grin. “Gonna have to ask you to tone it down? Maybe get a hotel room?”

“Fuck off,” Ray said, throwing a pillow at the door. Michael let the door take the pillow’s hit, smile never faltering.

 “Yo, Ryan, heard you got a new job,” Michael said, waggling his eyebrows. “You excited?”

Ryan hesitated. Ray had hunkered down in his spot on the bed ever since he threw the pillow, arms crossed sullenly. “I guess so,” Ryan said. “It’s a big change.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Michael said. He pushed the door open a little more so that he could lean against the doorframe. “Haven’t known much else. But me and Jeremy are gonna take you to the shooting gallery tomorrow. Get fucking _pumped_.”

Ryan glanced at Ray, but he seemed to have relaxed slightly. He was staring at the computer, his arms by his side again, but he didn’t look at much else despite the movie being paused. He seemed intent on memorizing the single, half-blurred frame.

“The shooting gallery?” Ryan repeated. “Aren’t we supposed to lay low?”

“We _are_ laying low,” Michael said. “Sort of. I mean… We’re just avoiding _Funhaus_ for now. Besides, we need to see what guns you’re good at. The shooting range isn’t that far, and if you’re so worried, then _Ray_ can come and…”

Ray swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He was already striding for the door when he said, “I’m running to the bathroom. Ryan, don’t wait for me to start up the movie again.”

He brushed past Michael, who watched him go. Michael looked back at Ryan just as a door snapped shut further down the hall. Michael seemed completely unfazed, and continued chatting with Ryan as though Ray hadn’t just stormed out again.

“So what, you interested? Not that you have a choice right now, since you’ve accepted, but…”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. Were they just going to ignore Ray? “I mean I only really have experience with pistols and hunting rifles.”

Michael whistled. “Hunting rifles? Fucking nice, dude.”

“That’s the South for you,” Ryan said with a shrug. “Basically _had_ to.”

Ryan hesitated again, and Michael still hovered at the doorway. Ray’s exit was bugging Ryan, and he had a nagging feeling he should follow. He left the movie paused and scooted off the bed. If Michael hadn’t picked up on Ray’s mood, he seemed to pick up on Ryan’s, and didn’t question it when Ryan headed for the door and started down the hallway where he had heard the door shut.

Most of the doors in the hallway were open, and the two Ryan passed showed more bedrooms. The door at the end of the hallway, however, was closed, and no light was leaking from underneath. When Ryan tried the handle he found it unlocked. As he suspected, it opened into a full bathroom—ceramic tile flooring, a glass encased shower, a sink and toilet.

Oh, and an open window.

Ryan glanced back at Michael, who rolled his eyes, before approaching the window. A cool nighttime breeze drifted through it, bringing a sweet smell. He leaned against the sill and looked out across the suburb, scanning the black trees and shadowed houses. Far down the block, he spotted a small hooded figure walking quickly away from the house, down a dark street punctured by sparse lamps. Ryan didn’t even bother trying to call out.

“He does this sometimes,” Michael said. “Escapes us. The house can get pretty crowded.”

“I see,” Ryan said. Michael was probably right, but it hadn’t _felt_ like a full house in that room alone with Ray. Not really, anyway. He pushed back from the window and shoved it shut. “Will he be okay out there? With the whole _laying low_ thing?”

“Oh sure,” Michael said. “He’s a sneaky little bastard with his magic; no one will notice him.”

Ryan cast one last look at the close window before he backed out of the bathroom. Michael said farewell to Ryan and went down the stairs. The murmurs of other Crew members wafted up from the first floor, like a quiet but merry party going late into the night.

Ryan returned to the bedroom to finish watching the movie alone. He didn’t know what was bothering Ray, but he hoped Ray would tell him soon.

* * *

 

The shooting gallery was vacant when the four of them arrived in that morning hour. In the lobby, Michael and Ray talked to the owner while Jeremy hung back with Ryan. The lobby smelled like stale cigarette smoke and faint gunpowder, a smell that made Ryan’s nose itch. He rubbed it and wondered how long he would have to wait.

“Why’s it taking so long?” Ryan asked Jeremy.

Jeremy shrugged noncommittally and waved his hand at them. Jeremy wore aviators today, and thankfully had left his cowboy hat at the house, but the result was a tough looking guy whose expression was hard to read.

“It’s a mixture of Ray casting a spell and just plain talking,” Jeremy said. “You see the little hand movements Ray’s doing constantly? He’s essentially making sure our faces are blurred. And Michael has to convince the owner not to let anyone in after us for an hour or two, and to not come back to check on us. A bit of money usually helps that, though.”

“Ah.”

Ray and Michael finally turned around, and Michael was grinning broadly holding a bunch of protective headphones. Ray was slouched, his hood up and his hands jammed into his pockets again.

“We’re in, baby,” Michael said. “Let’s get back there.”

Ryan followed them to the gallery itself, situated himself in one of the little divided sections. Ray hung around at the back wall, further away than Michael and Jeremy. Ryan frankly wasn’t sure why he came with—he seemed intent on not enjoying himself.

Ryan was quickly distracted by Jeremy rapping under his breath. He didn’t quite catch the words, but he caught the rhythm, and as Jeremy rapped, his hands darted in front of him in some practiced formation. Shimmering dust congealed in the space between his hands, and slowly the dust solidified into a (garish) purple and orange hunting rifle. It hovered for a second, then fell into Jeremy’s waiting hands.

“Let’s see what you can do, big guy,” Jeremy said, handing the rifle to Ryan.

“Does it have to be that color?” Ryan asked.

Jeremy gasped, doing his best to look melodramatically offended. “ _Ryan._ I give you a gift!”

Michael snickered and thumped Jeremy on the shoulder. “A gift like leprechaun’s gold. It’ll disappear as soon as Jeremy lets it.”

Ryan grinned and spared a glance back at Ray. He already had the protective headphones on, and he was watching them all passively. But when Ryan glanced at him, he managed to crack a smile. It felt weak. Ryan turned to the targets at the end of the gallery.

Michael and Jeremy had him try several different guns, had him reload and fix jams. Jeremy summoned up every one with a short rap, and every one was some combination of orange and purple. They had to teach him a lot about fixing jams and reloading some of the guns he was not familiar with—the assault rifle, the sniper rifle, the shotgun, the carbine. Hell, he even got to try a minigun for a few seconds, even though the kick was way more powerful than he was used to, and the sound so loud that Jeremy immediately dispelled it almost as soon as he started to fire it.

When Ryan tried the sniper rifle, Ray edged closer. Michael and Jeremy were all over Ryan for the most part, adjusting his grip and pointing to different parts of the weapon, but when it was the sniper rifle they stepped back and let Ray take over. The rifle came more naturally to Ryan, yet he still relished the gentle touches from Ray, the light prods adjusting his form, his elbows and angles. Ray didn’t say much, but he helped a lot.

Overall, Michael and Jeremy were ecstatic about Ryan’s proficiency. His accuracy and hand-eye coordination transferred over to most guns well enough, and though he was a little rusty the skill was still clearly there. He wasn’t as good with guns that had more kick, more spray, either (“Yet,” Michael reminded him). They assured him he would get more practice—and practice for his knives, too.

As they left the range, Michael and Jeremy chatted enthusiastically in the front seats about setting up a target in the backyard for Ryan to throw his knives at. Throwing knives was a new skill for them, it seemed. Sure, some of them were proficient in knife fights, but _throwing_ them was a different skill, and according to them it made Ryan more unique. Ryan found it endearing. He felt doted upon, even with Ray’s nagging silence. As Michael drove them back to the house, Ryan tried to start more conversations with them.

“That was some cool magic back there,” Ryan told Jeremy. “Can you make any gun?”

“Anything that I know,” Jeremy said, beaming proudly and puffing out his chest like a bird. “I studied every piece of all of those guns for months to be able to recreate them as working magic-fueled models. But _phew_ ,” he added, deflating suddenly. “Summoning that many guns in such a short time is tiring. I hope there’s lunch when we get back.”

“Hopefully,” Ryan agreed, even though it was still solidly midmorning. Maybe brunch? “Michael? Are you an Aug, too?”

“ _Technically_ , yes,” Michael said. “Fuck me if I try to do anything with my magic though. It’s super passive—but that means I get to take more hits than the next guy.” He flashed a wicked grin at Ryan. “I’m hard to kill.”

Ryan chuckled. Frankly, though, he was glad he was a Reg. Magic seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Sure, some Augs could do some cool tricks, and Ryan wasn’t going to hate any Aug simply for the presence of magic, but when the rest of society thought up tricks to neuter you as much as possible… Conference rooms, court rooms, even cafés could be artificial dead zones. Augs simply weren’t trusted to be honest.

And here he was, hanging out with a gang full of Augs. He stifled his laughter. His life was already much more interesting.

Ryan turned to Ray in the back seat with him. Ray was studiously staring out the window, so Ryan gave him a playful prod. Ray jumped and looked at him, a question in his eyes.

“Hey,” Ryan said. “Thanks for tagging along. And for the sniper tips.”

Ray smiled, easy and with a warmth that finally reached his eyes. It was a relief, seeing that expression. Something might be bothering Ray, but at least it wasn’t Ryan’s fault.

“Yeah man, of course. Any time.”


	10. In Which Ryan Gets Some Training

The Crew meandered through the lunchtime hours, building meals from the cabinets and fridge in Meg’s kitchen. Someone must have stepped out to the store while Ryan and the others were at the shooting range, for no one worried aloud about how much food was there. Ryan hung back away from the crowd as he watched Crew members bleed out of the woodwork for food. People he had forgotten were here, appearing from some unexplored part of the house. He was largely ignored, and many of the Crew members disappeared as quickly as they had come.

After the lunchtime rush, Ryan was told to square up.

Michael took him to the backyard, a fenced-in rectangle of grass and a level cement porch with white lawn chairs. Jeremy reclined in one of these chairs, and with his aviator sunglasses and the fruity drink he sipped through a straw, he emanated “suburban mom judging the hooligans at the pool.” Ray took one of the other chairs, but he studiously pretended not to watch by focusing on his DS.

Michael faced off against Ryan, already bouncing from foot to foot with hovering arms. Ryan raised his loose fists uncertainly.

“You want me to punch you?” Ryan asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “You already fucking know I can take any hit you give me,” he said. “If you’re gonna be working for us, you bet your fucking ass there’s gonna be close quarters at some point. You can’t rely on guns and throwing knives. So square up, bitch, and come at me!”

Ryan hesitated, then went for the punch, swinging his fist out wide for Michael’s head. Michael blocked Ryan’s arm with a forearm at the same time that Michael’s other fist rammed into Ryan’s stomach. His breath forced out of his lungs with an _oof_ , and Ryan stumbled back, wrapping his arms around his middle. He hadn’t even seen the punch coming. Jeremy howled with laughter.

“Michael,” Ray called a warning from his seat. Ryan glanced at him, but if Ray had looked up at all his eyes were already back on his game. “Not so hard.”

“He can take it,” Michael shot back. He grinned at Ryan and crossed his arms. “Dude, you have never been in a fight in your life. I’ve fought _drunk_ people who were better than you.”

“Great,” Ryan huffed, standing up straight. The dull pain was already ebbing, but Ryan would not forget it. “Then instead of insulting me, tell me what I fucking did wrong!”

Michael laughed. Jeremy was still beside himself, chuckling as he watched. “Good spunk! There’s one main thing here I want to drill into your head today that will address both major problems. First of all, do not fucking swing like a drunk action star. This wild fist you got?” Michael imitated Ryan’s punch, his arm arching through the air. “It’s bullshit. It don’t work. Leaves you open for attack, and doesn’t use your full potential.”

“Got it,” Ryan said. “Don’t swing wide. So how do I swing?”

“Like this.” Michael held his arm close to his side at first. His fist then darted out, his torso twisting with it—a straight punch. “Tighter. Harder to block. More force. The power comes more from your hips, not from your shoulder.”

“Right.”

“One last thing,” Michael added. “Hard fists for soft areas, like the stomach. Soft palms for hard areas, like the chest and face. Less likely to break knuckles that way.”

Ryan winced. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Michael raised his arms again, the bounce back in his stance. “Let’s do it again,” he said, grinning ferociously. “Hit me!”

They brawled for a time after that. It might have been an hour, might have been two. Despite Michael’s early snap at Ray, he did seem to go easier on Ryan, and held back his punches a little bit more. Ryan, however, still walked away with fresh bruises and aching muscles, whereas Michael only seemed to walk away with sweat. His skin was still tingling afterwards, his hands jittery with the rush of battle—even a fake battle.

Ray tagged alongside Ryan as Ryan headed to the bathroom for a shower. Ray folded his DS shut and tucked it into his hoodie’s pocket as Ryan massaged his sore knuckles.

“Didn’t hurt you too bad, I hope,” Ray said.

“I’ll be honest,” Ryan said with a grimace. “I can’t remember the last time I got a beating that bad. But I’m fine!” he added quickly when Ray shot him a pained, worried look. “It’s nothing that won’t heal in a few days.”

“Good,” Ray said, stopping in the hallway and turning. “Have a nice shower!”

“Ray, wait.”

Ray hesitated, and took a second to look back at Ryan.

“Has something been bothering you?” Ryan asked.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Well, it’s just…” Ryan pressed into one of his bruises on his knuckles, the dull pain blooming. “You seem really down about something recently, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ray said, shrugging and flashing a smile.

But he didn’t deny it.

“Ray,” Ryan said again. “You know you can talk to me. You don’t have to hide anything from me anymore.”

Ray tilted his head, his face neutral again. Oh, how dark those eyes could get. But then he turned once more and started back down the hallway.

“Enjoy your shower. I’ll see you later.”

* * *

 

Dinner was an organized chaos, very much unlike how lunch had been. Everyone seemed to be present for dinner; the crowded kitchen was in constant motion as people built their dinner from an array of plates carrying slices of steak, broccoli, a few different sauces, tofu, sweet potatoes… Enough to feed a family of over a dozen.

Once food was obtained, everyone spread out between the kitchen and living room. Only the lucky ones got the kitchen table—ones Ryan hadn’t really talked to yet, ones he hadn’t seen since lunch, as well as Geoff and Jack. Ryan found himself between Ray and Gavin on the floor in the living room, using the coffee table for their plates and drinks.

Ryan was detached during dinner, only adding to the conversation when prompted. He still felt like an outsider, like a puzzle piece that hadn’t found its place yet. Even then, he didn’t mind it so much. From this distance he could admire how much like a large family they were. They teased, they joked and playfully shoved each other. Matt, claiming most of the couch with his leg still in a splint, had a quiet way of wisecracking, whereas Trevor sitting next to him was more animated. On _more_ than one occasion, Jeremy and Gavin tossed food at each other, set to a melody of groans from observers.

All in all, it was a good time, and after it was all done and cleaned up, Meg claimed Ryan for the “favor” he owed her. She shooed anyone remaining out of the living room and claimed the couch for just the two of them. Her computer connected to the TV at its base, and she used a wireless mouse and keyboard to control it from the couch.

“I’ve been trying to decide what to make you watch,” she chattered, scrolling through the library of videos on her computer. “I considered forcing you to sit through _Tokyo Mew Mew_ , or trying to introduce you to _Trigun_ …”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Ryan said. “I’m willing to try anything at least once.”

She hummed and continued scrolling through her huge list of anime. Ryan recognized some titles, and had never heard of others. He settled back and waited. He glanced around the empty room—dim and lit by a single lamp, the TV, and the light from the kitchen. But no one else was in sight. Ryan hesitated only a moment before asking.

“Since I’ll be hanging out for a bit longer,” he started slowly. “Don’t you think I should know what Funhaus is looking for exactly? What do they think the Crew is hiding? _Is_ the Crew hiding someone?”

“Sorry, Ryan,” Meg said, not even taking her eyes off the TV. “If they haven’t told you, I have no jurisdiction to tell you what they’re being all secretive about. You’ve been _hired_ , not _initiated_.”

“I guess,” Ryan grumbled. He couldn’t argue with that. The Fakes didn’t technically have to tell him anything. “Any ideas on what to watch yet?”

Meg shrugged. Before she could reply or rattle off suggestions, they were both distracted by Michael entering the room. He stepped into the kitchen, got something out of the fridge, and wandered over to them. He set a Diet Coke on the coffee table, right in front of Ryan, before plopping down on the other side of Meg.

“My!” Meg exclaimed. “Aren’t you being nice tonight!”

“Yeah, I didn’t even _ask_ you for one,” Ryan added.

“After she went and bought a 24 pack of that shit,” Michael said, “I gotta make sure you drink it!”

Meg giggled. “Well thank you, and thanks for joining us. He _never_ watches anime with me,” she said to Ryan.

Before Ryan could add a quip to that, Michael sighed heavily. “In all honesty,” he said, “we nearly lost Gavin and Lindsay these last two days. Ryan protected him. As far as I’m concerned, I owe him big time.”

“You really showed it this afternoon,” Ryan said.

Michael scoffed. “Please. I went easy on you.”

“I got it!” Meg cried triumphantly. “We’re watching _Tiger and Bunny!_ ”

She set the anime rolling, and quickly the three of them were absorbed in the marathon. They barely felt the hours crawl by, chatting and watching the show with interest. All three of them freely made jokes about it as the episodes rolled, laughed together and flinched together when a character took a bad hit. It felt almost normal. Like Ryan had made a couple more friends. He could only hope that Meg and Michael felt the same.

At some point during the marathon, Ray silently slipped into the room to lightly touch Ryan’s shoulder and inform him that he was off to bed. Ryan wore a smile even after Ray left again—Ray had come to check up on him, to make sure he was okay. It was so sweet Ryan thought he might get heartburn.

* * *

 

The next few days passed similarly. They were training him, measuring his abilities. They set up a stuffed dummy in the backyard, and one morning he had a small audience while he threw his knives at it. This was a huge source of entertainment for Jeremy and Gavin, especially since it seemed like he could only either hit the dummy in lethal spots, or not at all.

Ray hid away a lot of the time. Ryan even ventured to compare him to a wounded dog, slinking off away from people until his injuries healed. He knew Ray wasn’t mad at _him_ … probably… yet still he worried. Gavin and Michael both assured him this was normal behavior, but that didn’t make him feel much better. It didn’t help Ryan’s mood that, because of his hiding, Ray wasn’t there to watch him practice with the throwing knives. His _gifts_.

One night, Ryan “woke up” standing in front of a closed door in an unlit hallway. He blinked, confused. He had been asleep on the couch… Had he been sleepwalking? He looked around, but he was alone. He supposed it wasn’t unusual for stressors to make someone sleepwalk… though he wasn’t entirely sure what _had_ woken him up.

He realized this was the basement door. In the quiet of the night, if he strained he could hear soft voices murmuring below him through the door. He reached for the handle and hesitated. He had the feeling he should not be going down there. The closer his hand got to the handle, the more he felt a slight vibration in the air. Like a gentle warning to back off.

The door opened suddenly, and Kdin was on the other side. Neither said anything at first, but Kdin glared at him, her body blocking his view of the dark staircase. Kdin was dressed comfortably, but had put on a light jacket and sneakers. Seemed like she was on her way out, but she refused to let Ryan have even a peek down the stairs.

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled. “I was—trying to get to the bathroom.”

Kdin pointed down the hall, and when Ryan headed towards it, he glanced back to watch her shut the basement door again and head for the front of the house. A few moments later, he heard the front door open and close.

He shivered and wandered back to the couch. Yeah, he was definitely not wanted down there.

Ryan didn’t see Ray next until the next evening when Geoff called a bunch of them together after dinner. It wasn’t everyone—Ryan didn’t see Kdin, hadn’t seen her for a few days besides the incident the previous night; Trevor and several of the people Ryan hadn’t met yet weren’t there either. But it still felt like a lot. They gathered at the coffee table, with Geoff and Jack standing in front of the TV, Jack holding a roll of paper. Ryan stood next to the couch, hanging back nervously. Ray joined him without saying anything, just sitting on the couch’s arm and leaning slightly against him for balance.

“Well, gang,” said Geoff. “We’re ready to start really preparing for the drug warehouse raid. The Shadows worked overtime the past few days to get us these documents. Matt dug up a blueprint of that place, and also hacked into the nearby surveillance cameras, so we have a pretty good idea of the layout.”

Jack stepped forward and set down the large sheet of paper, smoothing it over the coffee table. It had a bird’s eye view of the warehouse, and a small map of Los Santos in the corner. The warehouse was mostly one level, but had a second level that was half the length of the first, with two staircases leading up to it. A simple make.

Michael leaned forward to peer at it. “Easy-peasy,” Michael said with a wild grin. “I can set up explosives all over the place. We can make quick work of them!”

“Slow down, cowboy,” Jack said quickly. “We’re here to make an example. We can blow it up, but _after_ we have people to, shall we say, carry the message.”

Michael huffed and sat back, but he didn’t argue.

“Anyway,” Geoff continued. “We’ll want a solid ground force. Ray’s shoulder should be healed enough by then to join us, so I want all the Faces and the new guy to be with me in the warehouse. Lindsay will wait with the getaway vehicles and help keep surveillance on the outside.”

“Are you sure you don’t want sniper support?” Ray asked. “You want me in there?”

“Yes,” Geoff said. “The scuffle will be on the inside, and with Lindsay watching the outside with help from Matt watching the cameras from afar, there won’t be any need. Steffie will also have one of her drones in the sky, just in case. I need you on the ground.”

“Alright,” Ray said with a shrug.

Ryan nudged him. “You guys keep mentioning faces,” he whispered. “What are you talking about?”

Ray pointed at himself. “Faces are the forward facing Crew members,” he said in a low voice. “Like me, and Geoff. We’re the ones people usually think about when they think about the Fakes. Shadows are in the back room, like Matt, and Lindsay. They don’t usually get in firefights, but provide the support we need to survive and get in and out.”

“Those guys won’t know what hit them,” Jack said, briefly taking over for Geoff. “We go in guns blazing, we leave a few survivors to tell the tale, and we get out. Yes, Michael, we can blow it up after we do all that.”

“Excellent,” Michael said.

Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He jumped, but resisted the urge to pull it out to check the text. Ray raised an eyebrow at him, and Ryan crossed his arms, trying to pretend he _didn’t_ just get startled by his own phone.

“The mission should be simple,” Geoff said. “So memorize the layout in the next week. And new guy…”

Ryan snapped to attention, heart suddenly ramming hard and fast. Geoff looked like a mother who regretted buying a puppy for her son.

“I expect you to follow our orders exactly. Do that, and _maybe_ you’ll be useful.”

“Yessir,” Ryan said automatically. Geoff half-restrained a scoff, and left the room with Jack. The rest of the team started to dissipate, the Shadows returning to the hole from which they came and the other Faces going off to god knows where.

“Geoff’ll come around,” Ray said, putting a hand on Ryan’s arm. “He’s just being a baby because he was sort of forced into hiring you.”

Ryan had a sudden image of Ray, Lindsay, and Gavin all shouting down Geoff until he agreed to give Ryan a shot. Ryan’s face grew warm at the same time that his gut twisted. This was his first job with the Fakes. Crew members were vouching for him—he couldn’t let them down.

Ryan remembered the text he had gotten and pulled out his phone. It was from Jon.

>Hey you busy tomorrow? ;)

Ray butted his head against Ryan’s arm to peer at the phone. Ryan angled the screen away from him, making an ugly face, but Ray just grinned.

“Who’s texting you? Jon?”

“Yeah, looks like he wants to hang out tomorrow,” Ryan said. His eyes locked on to the winky face, heart beating in his throat. He hoped it meant what he thought it meant.

“Seems rather flirty,” Ray said, keeping his tone light. But something about it seemed forced.

“Thanks for invading my privacy,” Ryan said. “He’s just being silly.”

“Right,” Ray said. He shifted away from Ryan and finally stood up from his perch on the couch arm. “Anyway, you don’t need our permission to go. Michael or someone can drop you off—just ask when it’s time.”

“Aw, I don’t get chauffeured around by you?” Ryan teased. Ray raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I can’t drive,” he reminded Ryan.

“Dang,” Ryan said, exaggerating the sigh and the slump in his shoulders. Ray chuckled. They were alone now, and Ryan got to thinking… Meg wouldn’t tell him anything, but maybe Ray would give him more hints. If Jon was texting him about what Ryan asked him to research… Well, it was worth a shot. “So, Ray… What _is_ Funhaus looking for? Why are they like… trying to force information out of you?”

Ray blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I think that’s technically confidential. But, basically, they think we know something we don’t. _Have_ something we don’t.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry I can’t tell you more,” Ray said, patting his arm. “Maybe Geoff will stop being a paranoid prick soon and tell you himself. I don’t know how likely that will be, though,” he added. “He really does think everything’s a trick sometimes.”

“I got that impression, yeah,” Ryan agreed. He hesitated. Ray seemed ready to leave, ready to hide away again, seeking an out in the conversation. So, he blurted, “I’m glad you’ll be by my side on my first mission.”

Ray searched his eyes, a faint smile on his lips, faint worry in his brow. “There’s still time to change your mind,” he said. “To go home.”

Ryan shook his head. “This is it,” he said. “This is what I want to do.”

“Then,” said Ray, “I’ll be glad to protect your sorry, inexperienced ass next week.”

Ryan laughed and pulled him close into an embrace. Ray seemed surprised at first, tensing up, but he returned it tightly soon enough. Ryan almost whispered something, as he rested his cheek against Ray’s hair, but he held his tongue. No need to make it weird.

So instead he said, “I missed you these past few days. You’ve been making yourself scarce.”

Ray took a moment to breathe before responding. He adjusted the way his cheek pressed against Ryan’s shoulder, and shifted the way his arms wrapped around Ryan’s middle.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I've been stupid. I keep leaving you alone because of it.”

“As long as you come back eventually,” Ryan said. “You _have_ forced me to bond with Michael and Meg because of it, though.”

Ray snorted and pulled back, finally breaking the hug. When he met Ryan’s eyes, Ryan had to force his smile not to slip. There was something sad, there. Something guilty. And he didn’t know why. But as soon as he noticed it, it was gone, hidden behind a grin.

“I’m done sulking, don’t worry,” Ray said lightly, bumping his fist against Ryan’s arm. “I heard from Jeremy you’ve been practicing with the knives in the backyard each morning.”

“Heh, yeah,” Ryan admitted. “I think I’m finding my groove again. Definitely getting more consistent.”

“Cool!” Ray said, his smile growing wider. It was infectious, fluttery and warm like a happy bird setting up a nest right in Ryan’s ribcage. “Maybe I’ll come watch you tomorrow.”

“Please do!” Ryan said, grabbing Ray’s hands. Something about his expression must have been amusing to Ray, for his eyes lit up and the laughter he stifled made his whole body shake. “I would love that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it turns out it might be harder writing FAHC than one might think. Or maybe it's just this story. Next chapter we get some action again, finally ;)


	11. In Which Jon Shares His Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is around 4.5k words, i'm so sorry, hahaha. I think I tried to do a little too much, but I also wouldn't cut anything out.  
> Then again, some people like long chapters. In either case, enjoy.

Jon lived in a nicer neighborhood than Ryan. They used to live closer together, when they worked at the same place, but when Jon upgraded his job, he also upgraded his apartment. It wasn’t the bigwig upscale apartments of the city center, nor the houses on the north side, but it was nice and on one of the streets that crime touched slightly less. A place almost acceptable for a family.

Michael dropped Ryan off in front of the apartment building, and Ryan jabbed at the buzzer to let Jon know he was here. When the door buzzed back and clicked, he pushed through and headed up.

Ryan hadn’t been to Jon’s apartment in a while, but he didn’t remember it having quite these many candles. All black, wax still coating their wicks. There were several on the small table next to the door, a few on the windowsill, some coupled together artfully on the kitchen table and under the TV, and many shoved onto the coffee table.

Ryan tried to ignore the itch on his skin—there was something unsettling about all these black candles. Maybe the magazine got a shipment of products from some company again, and Jon was forced to take some home. He remembered when Jon couldn’t seem to get rid of his stock of lip balm. (Ryan _still_ found old chap sticks whenever he looked under the couch to clean up trash. Even when he swore he finally found them all.)

When Ryan opened his mouth, Jon rubbed his temple and said, “ _Please_ do not ask about the candles.”

Ryan closed his mouth. Jon led Ryan from the front door to the kitchen area.

“Check this out,” Jon said. He tossed a folder on the kitchen table. “I made some historian friends, and one of them pointed me to _this_.”

Ryan opened the folder and was greeted by… well, those were English _letters_ , but the words were all spelled weird. It almost looked like a completely different language at first, arranged like poetry. Jon reached over and turned a few pages to point at a highlighted passage.

“I can’t read this,” Ryan said.

Jon rolled his eyes. “It’s a story from Ye Olde England, about the Battle of Stamford Bridge and the Battle of Hastings in 1066. The story itself was written some years afterward, but here—this part is about the English king marching his troops south after defeating the Vikings. He made the trip in ridiculous speed.”

“Summarize what this says, please,” Ryan said. “I don’t have the time to sit here for an hour deciphering this.”

Ryan could tell Jon wanted to roll his eyes again, but resisted. “Alright. Basically, it says: ‘ _Like an angel’s grace, he swept through the camp on the first night, washing away sores and exhaustion with a wave of his hand. His own weariness meant nothing to him, for the army was as much his charge as the king’s, and William the Bastard would not wait_.’”

“Like an angel?” Ryan muttered.

“Note the _like_ part,” Jon said. “The rest of the surviving story keeps mentioning this guy, and he’s not _literally_ a Biblical angel, but a _magician_. He’s also compared to Faeries for his power.”

“This has gotta be fake, though,” Ryan said. “Embellishment. These old ‘historians’ were still telling _stories_.”

“That’s what my friend thought too,” Jon said. “Said it was probably minor fabrication by all the storytellers who told this story over the years. Searching for a ‘logical’ reason why the king got his men there so fast. But none of the other historical-style stories I looked at of the same time period are embellished in quite this way.”

“Like an angel,” Ryan repeated. “Did you find more of these angels anywhere?”

“I found the most obvious ones and put it in the folder,” Jon said. “The story about 1066 is the most detailed about it, and mentions the healing aspect. There’s a couple from the east that mention a flying man. A couple more mention magicians with incredible strength and no specialty—sometimes compared to demons, genies, as well as angels and faeries. And—a lot of their stories are about something big. It’s like they’re usually a harbinger of change.”

“Like 1066,” Ryan said, his eyes widening. “That was the major turning point in English history.”

Jon nodded, his eyes bright. “They seem to appear so infrequently, or at least far enough away from each other, on opposite corners of the world. Who knows how many there’s been? What wars they’ve been a part of?”

“How do we find one?” Ryan muttered before he could think about what his question meant. Jon stared.

“ _Find_ one,” he repeated. “Ryan, why would you think there’s one alive anywhere near us?”

“I’ve—heard some rumors,” Ryan said quickly. “That someone is looking for one. But how would they know?”

Jon sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He seemed to be considering Ryan.

“You look for someone who can heal and fly,” he said simply. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I mean…” Ryan hesitated. “What if they’re hiding? How can you know for sure?”

“They’d have to be _very_ careful to hide the fact that they can learn any spell with no regards to specialty,” Jon said slowly. “Of course, both you and I are Regs—I have no idea how hard it would be to hide that sort of thing. But… there _is_ a device.”

Ryan leaned forward. “Go on…”

“It’s just a prototype right now,” Jon said, “but it’s supposed to be an accurate read of an Aug’s ability. Something nothing else can really do—it can tell you _exactly_ what specialty you have, what kind of spells would be easiest for you to learn, and how powerful you are.”

“That’s amazing,” Ryan breathed. “How did you ever find out about this?”

Jon hesitated. “Actually… I’m taking the photographs for an exclusive interview for the Science and Spells section of the magazine.”

Ryan whistled. “Sounds like a big interview—but you don’t usually take pictures for that section…’’

“That’s because…” Jon said quietly. He paused to pick at one of the nearby candles, his nail scraping a little bit of wax away from its top. “It’s our company, Ryan. It’s Saga Systems. They’re the ones who funded the device, and they only organized the interview because of me. They think that I can be trusted to make sure it seems like the best thing in the world.”

Suddenly Ryan saw the eyes of a drowning man, and Ryan took a moment to understand exactly how stressful this situation was. He wasn’t just the photographer—he was there to make sure the interviewer asked the right questions. And if the wrong ones _were_ asked, it was Jon who would get the flak. And Ryan knew how easy it was to piss off that company.

“That’s quite the responsibility,” Ryan said. Jon nodded and continued picking at his candle. “Anyway,” he added. “I owe you _big_ time for finding all this shit out. You’re _amazing_.”

Jon readjusted his posture, straightening his back so that he could haughtily flick his hair over his shoulder, like some conceited popular high schooler. “Oh, I know I’m amazing,” he said, smirking. Then he tapped the folder with a finger. “I’m sure I’ll think of some way for you to pay me back. After all, this thing was basically my entire last week.”

“Aw, Jon…”

“Just…” Jon hesitated, as though struggling to find the right words. “You seemed like you really needed the information quickly. We’re friends, right?”

“I…” Ryan blinked. “Uh, yeah. Is there any doubt?”

Jon leaned forward, fixing Ryan with a hard eye. “Then _talk to me_ ,” he said. Ryan felt chilled by the sudden change in Jon’s tone. “If something’s worrying you, if something’s fucking _threatening_ you… You don’t have to leave me out and abuse my trust. I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Ryan shook his head and forced his shoulders to relax, forced a smile. But under the table, his hand was a tight fist on his thigh. “It’s nothing, honestly,” he insisted. The lie tasted sour, but there was _no_ way he was going to drag Jon into his involvement with the Fakes. “I’m sorry it came off that way, but I didn’t intend it.”

“Uh huh.” Jon leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, but the hardness in his eyes didn’t fade. “Well. I think you’ve gotten all you came here for. If you’ll excuse me, I promised my neighbor I’d walk her dog today, and I’d rather do that while the sun is still up.”

Ryan bit his tongue. It was too late for him to backpedal—if he tried to fix this situation more, he would only make it worse. So, he bowed his head and pushed back from the table to stand.

“Thanks again, Jon,” he said earnestly. “You’ve been a huge help.”

“I hope so,” Jon muttered. Ryan felt his eyes on his back all the way to the door.

* * *

 

Ryan stared at the rubber skull mask in his lap as he sat hunched over on Meg’s couch. Tomorrow, they would raid the warehouse. And though his mask was a great help to concealing his identity, he kept thinking back to the day at the carnival. His mask was just one layer—a layer that wouldn’t always be there. Maybe it would be ripped off in combat, or maybe he would be backed into a corner like at the carnival. But he didn’t have any face paint.

“Nervous?”

Ryan jumped and saw Meg sit down on the couch next to him. Her expression was friendly, a small smile making her eyes twinkle. Ryan’s hands tightened on his mask as his stomach twisted.

“I guess,” he admitted.

“Well you’ve been in three fights already,” Meg said, “and you survived all of them with barely a scratch!”

“That’s true,” Ryan said. “But that’s not… everything. You don’t have, uh, face paint, do you?”

Meg snorted, and Ryan felt his cheeks warm. It sounded so stupid when he said it out loud. “No, unfortunately not,” she said. “But I see why you want it. You want a second line of defense for your face and identity, right? I’ll tell you what. I can use my Glamour magic to make it seem like you’re wearing face paint. It’ll last a few hours, and it won’t wash off with water, and you won’t even feel it. Of course, since it’s a charm it can be dispelled, but in a fight, your foe rarely notices Glamour.”

“You’d do that?” Ryan asked. “For me?”

Meg patted his shoulder. “Like Michael, I also won’t forget that you protected Gavin and Lindsay. Besides, you’ve been welcome fresh company for me. This is just what friends do—they help each other out. So when the time comes tomorrow, just tell me what you want it to look like.”

Ryan smiled, and the butterflies in his stomach settled. Now the only thing he had to fear tomorrow was death.

* * *

 

“Excited?” Michael shouted over the wind and the roof of the car. Ryan looked at him, and nodded—Michael wouldn’t be able to see his grin because of the skull mask. The two of them gripped the side of the old-fashioned Roosevelt vehicle. Jack was driving, Geoff in the passenger seat, and Ray and Jeremy in the back seat. It was a green and black car, with their gang emblem printed on its long hood. It was the car for show, the car to yell “ _Hey, we’re the Fakes!_ ”

And Ryan was hanging off the side of it, wind cutting through his leather jacket and the bulletproof vest underneath. 

The motorcycle behind them revved, and Gavin’s chrome helmet visor flashed as he zipped by the car and waved at Ryan. The car could only hold six people, after all. Ryan tossed a lazy salute at Gavin with the hand not holding onto the car.

They raced through Los Santos, and honestly Ryan had never felt so free. He stretched out his free hand, feeling the wind slide through his fingers before pulling it back. The mere thought of that made him laugh. It was not long ago that he was trapped with these same people. Their prisoner, even. But now—he was free.

They pulled up at the warehouse, a shoddy building at the western edge of the city. They parked the car behind a fence, and as soon as the wheels stopped rolling, Ryan and Michael hopped off. Gavin parked the motorcycle right behind the car, and left his helmet on the seat. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, as though trying to fix his helmet head but only making it worse. Judging from his grin, though, that had been Gavin’s intent.

The fence was a tall wooden one separating this lot of warehouses from the road. There were a few warehouse buildings, their lot punctuated by tall street lamps with security cameras hanging under their lights. The warehouses were all copies of each other, simple two-story buildings with gray walls and tin roofs. No windows, large doors for trucks and a few small doors for people. In the sky, at the same height as the birds, a drone hovered—Steffie’s drone, Ryan was told. He also knew Lindsay was hidden away somewhere, with a second car if it was needed.

Soon the seven of them were standing next to the fence, preparing to charge the warehouse. Each of them wore an earpiece, and Geoff touched his now.

“Status?” he asked. His voice echoed in Ryan’s ear, followed quickly by two other voices.

“The lot is all clear,” said Matt, his low voice crackling through his mic. “No one is outside.”

“Ditto,” reported Lindsay. “And Steffie is live.”

“How many inside?” Geoff asked.

“I would expect about a dozen,” said Matt. “I counted eight people walking in, but there may be more.”

“Roger,” said Geoff. “Good work.” He dropped his hand from his ear and fixed Ryan with a cold, blue stare. “You know your job?”

Ryan nodded. He would stick by Gavin for the duration of the mission. It was well known among the Fakes that Gavin was the weakest in a firefight. It wasn’t that he couldn’t shoot—in fact his aim was pretty good. But he lacked awareness, and if caught in a panic could make very dangerous mistakes. Before the mission, Michael had _intricately_ detailed the time Gavin had accidentally shot him in the leg during a scuffle a long time ago—and he still had the scar on his calf.

“Good,” said Geoff. He jerked his chin at Jack as a signal, and Jack put his hand on the car. The trunk popped open, and Geoff calmly walked around the back and pulled out a shotgun. The other soon followed suit.

They had a variety of guns between the seven of them. Both Ray and Ryan had carbines, relying more heavily on their accuracy. Along with Geoff, Michael also carried a shotgun, as well as a few blocks of C4. Jack favored an assault rifle, and Gavin had one strapped over his shoulder but carried his pistol for now. Jeremy had the pistol as well, just in case—he would otherwise make any gun he needed. For now, an uzi formed in his hands, summoned into existence by a short, muttered rap. Everyone, in fact, had a pistol somewhere on their body. Ryan had one under his jacket, on the opposite side of his knives.

He was kind of glad the mask hid his grin. He feared the others would find him mad.

Geoff loaded his sawed-off shotgun and pumped it. Ryan could only admire how striking the man was now—black tux, only the tattoos on his hands visible, shotgun held confidently in those hands. This was the boss of the Fakes. This was the leader of the Crew.

“Let’s show these fuckers what happens when they sell on our turf,” Geoff said.

As a group they marched across the lot, straight towards the warehouse in question. Ryan’s heart thumped strong against his ribcage. He felt supercharged, adrenaline already flowing in anticipation. He, Ray, and Gavin were towards the back of the group, and Ray nudged him as they neared the huge main door of the warehouse. The kind of door that would roll up and let a truck through. Geoff and Michael stepped forward and stuck the C4 over the door.

“Ready?” Ray asked in a low voice.

“Oh, _so_ ready,” Ryan said.

Ray flashed him a smile and squeezed his arm before turning his attention forward. Everyone seemed to snap into a different mood. It was a subtle change in the atmosphere; everyone was looking, watching, alert and ready to initiate. Geoff gave his Crew one final glance, everyone hovering at a safe distance, before he looked to Michael.

“Give them a show,” he said. Michael grinned, looking as half-crazed as Ryan felt, and held up the detonator and pushing the button.

The explosion rattled Ryan’s teeth, and he felt the heat burst over his exposed hands. They were far enough away that the explosion didn’t reach, but it was barely a moment after detonation that the seven of them were running in there to take advantage of the surprise.

The inside of the warehouse was exactly what they expected. Mostly empty and adequately lit by overhead lights, with large wooden crates stacked everywhere and a second partial floor made up of metal bars and grates, two staircases leading up to it. Most crates were in stacks of three or four, with no apparent organization. The second floor looked to have more permanent order, with taller and more rhythmically sorted stacks.

Ryan saw movement to his left and he snapped his carbine up, firing a short burst of bullets into the chest of a guy. The man fell with just a grunt, and Ryan felt a thrill shiver down his spine and make the hairs on his arms stand on end. Around him, more gunshots popped and burst, and short screams and groans fell around them.

They fanned out, Geoff still at its head, the smell of gunpowder and smoke lingering. Gavin and Ryan headed more right, Ray and Michael heading left, and the last three taking center. Three people lay crumpled, either dead or dying. A few dark stains peppered the concrete floor, but if they didn’t belong to the three, they belonged to people now hidden.

“I want to make one thing perfectly fucking clear!” Geoff shouted, his voice ringing out in the relative silence. “We know you’ve been dealing on our turf, and that will not be fucking tolerated!”

Ryan’s gaze roved, swept over the warehouse and he knew the others were doing the same. They fanned out even more, guns raised, as they searched for the remaining drug dealers. Ryan stuck by Gavin, who sauntered confidently next to him with a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes. Ryan hadn’t noticed him put them on before, and he resisted the urge to laugh. It was hard to tell Gavin’s expression this way, and the effect was a sense of cool apathy.

“You killed Frank! You fuckers!”

Movement flickered to Ryan’s right. Someone jumped up from behind a nearby crate, assault rifle in hand, and Ryan flinched, bracing for impact. But when the gunshot rang out, no pain blossomed in his body—instead, the man screamed and collapsed behind the crate again. Ryan glanced back at Ray, who winked at him and lowered his gun.

Ryan smiled and gave him a little wave. They had each other’s backs. They all did. How wonderful it was to be a part of a team!

Ryan followed Gavin like a bodyguard as the lad walked around the crate, raised his pistol, and finished off the downed man with one bullet.

Movement, from the second floor. Ryan squinted, glanced up there. No one else seemed to have noticed it—the others were weaving in and out of the crates. Ryan opened his mouth, but Geoff had another announcement to make.

“I want all you fucking survivors to bring a message back to your _dear, beloved_ Funhaus. The Fakes aren’t fucking around. You tread on _our_ territory, you get _punished_. If you sell on our turf again, we won’t be so kind. Now, who wants to deliver our message?”

“I will!” a feminine voice called cheerfully from above. They looked up in time to see Elyse pop out from behind a pile of three crates near the center edge of the second floor and wave down at them, her blonde hair bouncing as she grinned. “Oh, hello!”

Ryan heard Gavin mutter a curse, saw a few others flinch from the corner of his eye. He saw Gavin raise his arm, aiming the pistol at Elyse, but Ryan had a bad feeling twist his gut, fill his mouth with poisonous taste. He heard a fast, rhythmic _click-click-click,_ though he didn’t have the time to interpret what that was.

“Everyone get down!” Ryan roared, and before he could confirm if his instinct was right, he tackled Gavin. He gripped Gavin’s gun hand in the same motion, and the two of them rolled over the crates that had once shielded the dead man who had wanted to avenge Frank. This put those crates between the two of them and the right staircase as well as a part of the second floor.

Not a moment too soon. A second figure stepped out from behind a stack of crates at the top of the right staircase with a minigun, its barrels already spinning. Not even a second later, what must have been a thousand bullets sliced through the air with a sound like a rattling rotary engine.

Crates everywhere chipped and burst into splinters of wood, and Gavin squawked and cowered. Ryan shielded him with his body, forcing both of them to remain prone as wood sprayed over their heads. Then it moved on, moving slowly on its path to cover the first floor.

He could barely hear Lindsay over the sound of the minigun, but she still shouted through the earpieces. “What’s going on in there? Report!”

“Bad news!” Geoff cried. “We’ve got Elyse and Bruce in here, and Bruce has a fucking minigun! We are currently pinned!”

“I’ll get—” Lindsay started.

“No!” Geoff ordered. “We can recover.”

“Roger,” Lindsay said immediately. No time to waste with arguing or other chatter.

Ryan risked a peek at the second floor, careful not to show his head to the minigun as it continued its sweep of the warehouse. The spray was heading away, but if he showed himself he was sure it would snap back. He had no idea where the others were, and hoped no one had gotten hit.

Uh oh. Elyse had walked into view again, grinning down below as she headed towards the left staircase. She was followed by another man—Peake, Ryan remembered. Puffy vest and soft eyes that seemed out of place here. Not only would they be able to see everyone’s positions, between the three of them, but they were also going to flank the Fakes.

Strangely, Ryan did not panic. The thrill still filled him—this was a challenge. How could they escape now? All seven of them, pinned down by a minigun, two flankers, and half a dozen random drug dealers who may or may not be armed scattered around the warehouse. A challenge.

He twisted around, carefully shifting off of Gavin to crouch, and aimed down his carbine’s sights. Behind Ryan, Gavin touched his ear, and Ryan heard the British voice in his earpiece.

“Elyse and Peake, left staircase.”

Ryan squeezed the trigger on his carbine, feeling the weapon jolt to life in his hands. Sparks pinged over the stair’s metal railing, chipped across the warehouse wall. Elyse ducked and rolled, popping up at the top of the staircase, raising a previously unseen uzi. Peake had hidden himself by a crate, but now he edged around it, an assault rifle in his hands. Ryan saw his error in their smiles.

“Move now!” Gavin hissed in his ear, his breath loud against the rattling minigun. He shoved Ryan, and the two of them darted across a gap between their half-destroyed pile of crates and the next one. They ran deeper into the warehouse, heading for crates piled underneath the second floor as bullets rang from either side. He saw flashes of movement to his left, flashes of the other Fakes doing the same, returning fire to keep Elyse and Peake’s aim inaccurate. Hoping Bruce’s minigun wouldn’t sweep over them fast enough. That is, until they reached a point where the minigun stopped firing, its silence ringing almost as bad as its noise.

Of course. With Elyse and Peake flanking, Bruce couldn’t keep up the firing lest he hit them on accident.

The two of them passed by a large single crate underneath the second floor, and a man leapt up with a pistol. Ryan didn’t hesitate; he ducked and shoved his momentum towards the man. He slammed the butt of his carbine into the man’s hand, then spun the gun around and squeezed the trigger. Red sprayed out the other end, and Ryan’s stomach actually twisted. Gross. Nasty.

But then Gavin tugged him down, _next_ to the body, and Ryan was forced to actually _see_ the man as they hid behind the large crate. Ryan did not feel sorry for him, no—the man had chosen this job, knew this might happen. The death had been quick. But he wore a red plaid shirt, dirty jeans. A scruffy dark beard closer to a five o’clock shadow than a real beard. Ryan looked away. He couldn’t make himself feel bad about the man.

“What’s the plan?” Michael asked through the earpiece. Ryan still wasn’t sure where the others had ended up. He glanced deeper into the warehouse, where he noticed a small door in the back wall past the piles of crates. Any second now, Funhaus would start firing again. Had the others run into other drug dealers?

“Jeremy, can you make a minigun like Bruce?” Jack asked.

“Sorry, man,” Jeremy groaned. “I haven’t quite gotten that down yet.”

“Then we use what we have,” Geoff said sharply. “Everyone okay? Gavin?”

“Yes!” Gavin said. “Ryan is a good shot!”

Ryan didn’t hear the reply. His ears had started ringing, the sounds around him softening like he was underwater. Deeper into the warehouse. Some of the remaining drug dealers must have escaped there, and they had regrouped. Maybe seven of them, standing up from their shelter behind crates. Ryan didn’t know where the other Fakes were, but he knew those dealers—those _armed_ dealers, each with some sort of rifle—would be able to see them all.

“Behind us!” Ryan cried desperately. He could barely hear his own voice. Heat prickled up the back of his neck, and he felt Gavin’s hand squeeze his arm. The pitter of the minigun started up again; Elyse shouted something. Time seemed to slow down, trickle and crash like the ocean, and Ryan was drowning. Surrounded by guns, surrounded by water, his earpiece crackling with voices.

Strangely enough, the last thing he remembered was not fear, but furious calm, giddy calm. He started to laugh.

This was a challenge he accepted.


	12. In Which Ryan... Uh... Wait, What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story might not go the way you expect, but please have faith in me! ヾ(｡･ω･｡)

Ryan stopped walking and blinked. At least, he was sure he had been walking up until that point. He wasn’t holding the carbine anymore, wasn’t in the warehouse. Grass was under his feet, and the night was cool against his skin. Mask in his hands, porch lights, driveway—back at Meg’s house?

Three others were walking away from the car parked on the street. Lindsay, Michael, Jeremy. Gavin was pulling the motorcycle into the garage, squeezing it next to the two vehicles in there. The others must be inside, right?

Ray nudged him, poked him in the side, making him jump. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

“I…” Ryan looked around. Ray must have gotten out of the car behind Ryan. “We’re back?”

Ray stepped in front of Ryan and grabbed his shoulders, catching Ryan’s gaze and holding it. “Ryan, are you okay? I know you were out of it for a while in the car. You were quiet, but we thought you were just tired.”

Panic fluttered in Ryan’s throat. He swallowed hard, his eyes sweeping over the little neighborhood—trying to take it in, trying to orient himself. He trembled under Ray’s hands.

“I don’t remember,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I don’t remember,” he repeated. He took a step back, wide eyes resting on Ray again. “I remember going into the warehouse, and Elyse and Peake and the guy with the minigun. And we hid towards the back of the warehouse, and the other drug dealers popped up and I—I don’t remember. I can’t remember what happened after. You didn’t… you didn’t…?”

“No!” Ray said quickly. “No, I _told_ you I wouldn’t mess with your perceptions again!”

Ryan swallowed hard and nodded. He knew Ray was telling the truth. Ray closed the distance Ryan had caused and reached out again. Ryan hid his face in his hands, rubbed his tired eyes.

“I don’t remember,” he whispered again. He thought he might cry. His heart pounded uncomfortably—fast like adrenaline, but it made him feel sick instead of powerful. He tried to remember what happened after he shouted the warning about the drug dealers behind them. He shouted it, and then he was here, walking towards Meg’s house. It was a blank spot, a void, a gap in a broken bridge. “There’s nothing. Nothing. Please tell me what happened, Ray. I can’t remember.”

“Okay, calm down,” Ray said softly. Ryan felt hands on the back of his, and he let his hands fall from his face. Ray stroked his cheek before tucking a loose strand of Ryan’s hair behind his ear. Ryan took a deep breath.

“First of all…” Ray started slowly, as though awkward about relaying what _just_ happened. “Some of the others might give you strange looks inside. For a moment we kind of thought you snapped. This was your first mission after all, and you were so new to this… lifestyle.”

“What did I do?” Ryan insisted quietly.

Ray hesitated, then started telling the story of the firefight. None of it sounded familiar in the slightest, but Ray’s voice was calm and smooth as he relayed this information, and Ryan felt his heart slow to a more comfortable speed.

After he had sounded the alarm, he had started laughing. Gavin found this incredibly amusing and egged him on, cheering when Ryan stood and started firing his carbine. Ray remembered shouting at him, pleading for him to find cover, but it fell on deaf ears. None of the bullets seemed to hit him anyway, even before Ray used his magic to blur Ryan’s actions.

Ryan had targeted the people in the back, becoming a beacon of movement as he dashed from crate to crate. Nearly every burst of his bullets hit someone, whereas he was untouched. And when it was the last drug dealer, Ryan looked over his shoulder to make eye contact with Bruce as he pulled the final trigger. He laughed and didn’t even look at the man he killed.

Funhaus would have focused him if it weren’t for the Crew. The other six forced the three Funhaus members to keep moving, so that Bruce could not effectively use the minigun. Despite their numbers advantage, however, the Crew could not maneuver to truly gain the upper hand. So when Steffie reported that her drone spotted incoming Funhaus vehicles bringing backup, they disengaged. They escaped out the back door, Ryan bringing up the rear, partially shielding Gavin and firing pot shots back at Funhaus.

Ryan didn’t stop giggling until they reached the getaway cars. Ray dragged him into Lindsay’s car with Gavin, as Michael and Jeremy went with Geoff and Jack for the other vehicles. It was only in Lindsay's car that he seemed to calm down. He became withdrawn and barely said a word. For a while Ray thought he had fallen asleep, but eventually realized he was just staring out the window. Ray had tried to talk to him then, but Ryan would just shake his head and otherwise not respond.

Until now.

“I see…” Ryan muttered.

Then he swayed, and Ray’s hands were gripping his arms in an instant

 “Woah, okay,” Ray said. “I think it’s time for bed.”

Ryan stared past Ray towards the house, a frown pulling at his mouth. Bed meant returning to the couch, and he could see the shadows of movement across the curtains shielding the living room. He would honestly rather leave. Back to his apartment, where he had only visited briefly these past couple weeks to water his plants and grab clothes or other necessities.

“I think I want to go home,” he said softly.

Ray sighed and walked into Ryan’s chest for a hug. Ryan wrapped his shaking arms around him and held him close. “I’m sorry, Ryan, no one’s going to be able to take you tonight. We can take you back tomorrow, but I’ll tell you what. You can have my bed tonight, and I’ll take the couch.”

“You don’t have to,” Ryan said, hearing his voice strain, narrowly avoiding cracking.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ray insisted. He pulled back and started tugging Ryan towards the house. “You’re exhausted, and it’s going to be noisy for a bit, so the couch is gonna be a nightmare.”

Ryan shook his head, but could do nothing but let himself be tugged back to the house. Ray led him through the front door, and Ryan learned why he wouldn’t be able to sleep on the couch for a good few hours yet. Meg plus everyone involved with the mission were having a little party, and already some of the beer bottles were empty. The crowd turned to him when he entered, but Ray barely missed a step and continued past the party, his hand never leaving Ryan’s arm.

“Ayy!” Gavin bellowed, shoving his beer bottle in the air in a toast. “It’s the hero of the night!”

“Come join us!” Michael said. “Have a beer!”

Ryan shook his head, suddenly at a loss for words. Geoff was staring at him with cold, blue eyes. Observing him. He didn’t stop walking past the living room, towed along by Ray.

“He doesn’t drink,” Ray said. The two of them did pause just before they would go out of sight of the living room, so that Ray could look at the party. “He’s real tired after that whole thing, so I’m letting him use my bed.”

Michael and Gavin wolf whistled, and Ryan felt his face turn into a space heater. He felt Ray’s grip on him flinch.

“I’m not _joining_ him,” Ray snapped. He spun on his heel and gave Ryan’s arm a yank. “Oh, fucking _whatever_.”

Ray led him up the stairs and to the end of the hallway to the left. The room was easily one of the smaller ones, with two twin-sized beds and a sewing machine on a desk in the corner. When Ray flipped on the light in the ceiling fan, Ryan saw that the comforters were a matching purple. One of them, though, had rose pink sheets, and the other had orange.

“Jeremy usually sleeps here too,” Ray admitted. “But ideally he’ll come up when you’re fast asleep, and just pass out immediately.”

Ryan was half-tempted to flirtatiously ask Ray to join him, but he remembered how his hand had tightened on his arm. His weariness seemed to increase in weight around his shoulders threefold.

“Are you going back to the party?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah,” Ray said. “Kind of have to, but it’s also nice to just—celebrate being alive, I guess.”

Ryan nodded. He understood, of course. But for all his weariness, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fall asleep quite yet. The hole in his memory frightened him, like he was standing at the precarious edge of a bottomless pit. He felt like he could get lost in there, fall into the pit and tumble forever.

He didn’t realize that Ray was still in front of him, didn’t realize that Ray had gripped both arms and was asking him a question.

“ _Ryan_ ,” Ray said. “Stay with me, man.”

“What.” Ryan blinked. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you _wanted_ me to stay for a little bit.” Ray frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “Like, if you needed someone to talk to, or…”

“Am I losing my mind?” Ryan asked. Ray’s words choked off, and his mouth hung open for a few seconds as his eyes studied Ryan’s.

“I dunno,” he said. “But right now I think you’re just stressed out about the mission. Okay? Maybe you should lie down. Take off your jacket and lie down.”

Ryan obeyed, letting his jacket fall and sinking onto the bed with the pink sheets. Ray sat on its edge as Ryan let his head fall onto the pillow, resting his cheek against the cool, soft pillowcase. He curled up on his side, and Ray reached out to stroke his hair. Ryan inhaled deeply; the pillow smelled like Ray.

“This amnesia really scares you, huh,” Ray said quietly.

“Mhmm.”

Ray’s fingers were a steady rhythm across Ryan’s scalp, and he found himself lulled. Yet his eyes refused to close all the way, and he ended up staring past Ray at the bed with the orange sheets.

“Can’t say I know what it’s like,” Ray said, “but I’ll help in any way I can. Alright?”

Ryan blinked and sat up suddenly. Ray jumped, withdrawing his hand. “Maybe you could—your magic messed with my memory before. Could it do the opposite?”

Ray grimaced and pulled at the hem of his hoodie. “Ryan I—I don’t think so. It’s nothing I’ve ever _had_ to do. I’m not sure I can.”

“Oh.” Ryan let himself fall back to the bed, but Ray didn’t resume stroking his hair. He rubbed his eyes and hid his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I—it’s a good idea,” Ray admitted. “I can look into it. I can start seeing if I can learn those types of spells. I can’t do anything now, but maybe eventually.”

“How long does it take to learn a spell?”

“Fuck, I dunno. A simple spell might take just a couple weeks. Memory is complicated, though, and I’d have to find the resources first, too. It might be a long time.”

Ryan groaned into the pillow. “Aw, forget it. There’s no use.”

Ray patted Ryan’s arm. “Well, maybe this is a one-time thing. Maybe this is the only memory loss you’ll have to deal with.”

“Maybe.” Ray finally started stroking his hair again, and Ryan let his muscles relax under the gentle touch. Even as his eyes drifted shut, though, his mind felt wired.

_Was_ this the only time? Were there other times where he forgot something? But it was so small, such a short amount of time that he didn’t notice? What was actual amnesia, and what was his brain just discarding neurons like a gardener clipping withered leaves?

He fell asleep like that, lost in the void of his memory. Trapped like the minotaur in its pitch black labyrinth.

* * *

 

“How well do you _really_ know him?”

“Fucking better than you, Geoff. He wouldn’t lie about this.”

Ryan shook his head and bit back a groan. It had happened again. Some time in the night he “woke up” somewhere else—but now he hesitated to call it sleepwalking. Maybe he really _was_ losing his mind. A small headache threatened his temples, but he could ignore it.

He was sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to a conversation between Geoff and Ray. They must be in the kitchen, for Ryan could see the light spill into the dark hallway. Though they spoke with soft voices, the silent house carried them.

“I might be a little worried about him,” Ray admitted, “but he’s _not_ putting us in any danger. Or did you forget how much he protected our asses back there?”

Ryan expected Geoff to snap back at Ray, but the boss’s voice was surprisingly calm.

“I don’t want to argue with you. I just want to make sure you didn’t miss anything. But ultimately, I trust you. The Crew would never have made it this far if we didn’t trust each other.”

A pause. Ryan counted the seconds.

“Good night, Geoff.”

“Good night, buddy.”

With a jolt, Ryan realized Geoff would be approaching the stairs. He hopped to his feet and padded down the hall to his borrowed room, keeping his weight lightly on the balls of his feet. The door was slightly ajar, and he squeezed through it just as he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Jeremy was still out cold in the other bed, the alcohol in his system keeping him under. Ryan let himself sigh in relief and listened to the bed squeak underneath him as he crawled back into it. He tried not to think about what he heard or why he heard it. It was way too stressful, too confusing. Instead, he smushed his face into the pillow and fogged his brain with the scent trapped there. He fell asleep like that, his face half-buried.

* * *

 

He yawned as he struggled out of sleep, sunlight making the room bright and cheery. It was warm here, but he should move soon lest he become too hot in the sun. He stretched, the night’s memory a pleasant haze.

That is, until he noticed Geoff Ramsey in his signature suit standing over the bed, and the memory snapped back into sharp focus.

Ryan lurched up to sit, his heart racing, but Geoff merely smirked.

“Ray has informed us you want to go home,” Geoff said.

“I—I—uh, yes, I do, um…”

Geoff chuckled, and the back of Ryan’s neck prickled with embarrassed heat.

“Don’t be so worried! I think all of us are done crowding Meg’s house, and we’ve laid low long enough that some of us can return to different safe houses. Shadow team mostly, but you’re free to go home, too.”

“Oh,” Ryan breathed. “Okay.”

“I’m driving you,” Geoff added, and Ryan’s heart missed a beat. “So get dressed and pack up, and we’ll go.”

“Yes Geoff!” Ryan said quickly.

Geoff laughed, throaty and short. “That’s what I like to hear!” He patted Ryan’s shoulder with a firm hand before turning and heading for the door.

“I’ll be waiting in the kitchen,” Geoff said as the door closed behind him.

Ryan didn’t breathe until the door clicked shut. He glanced at the other bed, empty and with the covers thrown back so that its orange sheets boldly emblazoned the room. He bundled the pink sheets of his own bed up in his hands and buried his face in the soft fabric.

He sighed and tossed them aside. Time to go home—and to see what Geoff wants from him.

* * *

 

Crooning radio waves filled the empty space between them, making sound where their voices did not for the majority of the ride. Ryan flipflopped between thinking Geoff just didn’t know when to start a conversation and thinking that Geoff was trying to break him with awkwardness. Ryan hoped it was the former, but he had no way to tell, so he just suffered in silence as some punk band warbled at him.

When Geoff finally did speak, Ryan jumped, the leather seat creaking beneath him.

“Ray told me about your spots of amnesia,” Geoff said finally.

Ryan bit his tongue. He didn’t need to be reminded.

“I want to apologize,” said Geoff. Ryan stared. “I think it was way too stressful of a first mission for you. I should have started smaller.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Ryan said quietly. “That Funhaus would be there.”

“Waiting for us, it seems,” Geoff agreed. “I don’t know how they knew, or why they were there, but that’s not what I wanted to discuss with you.”

Ryan shivered. He _really_ hoped Geoff didn’t blame him. “Okay?”

The car pulled up to an intersection, and Geoff let the car roll to a stop at the red light.

“I’m afraid,” Geoff said simply. Afraid? The big boss of the Fakes? “And I need your help. What do you know about what Funhaus wants from us?”

Ryan hesitated, wondering how honest he should be. The car started moving again. “I know they’re looking for someone,” he admitted. “Someone powerful? They’re not sure who it is, but they think we’re hiding them amongst us.”

Geoff nodded, and Ryan was afraid he’d admitted too much, but Geoff said, “Very good. You’re just as clever and observant as I hoped you were.

“You see, Ryan, you’re the closest any new person has gotten in years. A lot of the Crew seems to like you, yet you still have an outside perspective. This is why I, unfortunately, need your help. I know, I don’t like it either.”

“What are you afraid of?” Ryan asked slowly.

Geoff sighed heavily, his eyes glued to the road. “I’m afraid that someone might be lying. Lying about the strength of their magic ability, or maybe even whether they’re an Aug at all. And if they’re lying about that, what else might they be lying about? I need to trust my Crew.”

“You want me to play P.I. with the Fakes,” Ryan said.

Geoff nodded. “You're fresh eyes. If I have a mole, I have to know, and I can’t figure it out on my own. I’m too close to them. I—love them too much. It kills me to even consider this, but here we are.”

The car jerked to a stop, and Ryan glanced out the window to see his apartment building. He winced. After being spoiled with Meg’s nice house and yard, it almost hurt to be back on this street, with the stained buildings and littered sidewalk. The building next to his, even, had a few windows paned with plywood. Still, it was home, and he could appreciate the quiet—and his own bed.

He didn’t feel like he was free to go just yet, though, so he waited.

“In the trunk there’s a backpack with your pay from the mission,” Geoff said. “There’s also a list of everyone in the central Crew with their abilities and strengths. Memorize it, and burn it. Any ideas you have, anything you notice goes through _me_. I have to protect them from any mistakes you make. As much as I hate it, I’m putting my trust in you, Ryan. And in Ray—if you fuck up, he will have fucked up, too. The moment I notice anything nefarious…”

Ryan swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “There’s no need for threats,” he said softly. “I’ll do as you say.”

“Good. I wasn't really giving you a choice, but it's easier when you agree to do it.” There was a click as the car doors unlocked. Geoff reached below the steering wheel and hit the latch to pop the trunk. “We’ll keep in touch. You may be home for now, but you’re still our mercenary. Expect some odd jobs, and consider it… proper warm up.”

Geoff flashed him a wicked grin, and Ryan’s heart jolted uncomfortably. He averted his gaze, grabbed his backpack, and shoved his way out of the car. He strode down the car’s sleek black length to the trunk and withdrew the second backpack. It was heavy and bulky—surely filled with cash, but Ryan didn’t dare open it here.

As soon as he slammed the trunk shut, Geoff revved the engine and drove off. Ryan watched him go before turning and heading into his apartment.

Ryan lived in a studio loft apartment, with his bed up the stairs behind the half-wall guarding the edge of the loft. Also in the loft was his desk, currently home to his laptop and a couple small potted cacti and succulents. The apartment’s space was limited, and some might find it cramped, but Ryan didn’t mind. His couch was comfy, his TV high quality, his small bookshelf filled, and his kitchen area had all working appliances, even if the microwave was twenty years old. Plants decorated the place with a happy green.

“Welcome home,” he muttered to himself, tossing his keys on the little table next to the front door and kicking off his shoes. He leaned his backpacks against the couch for now. He wandered around, dipping his fingers into his plants’ pots and checking their soil for dryness. The ritual calmed him somewhat, and in caring for his plants he could ignore the void for now. Ignore the list in the second backpack.

The ritual didn’t last forever. He finished taking care of his plants and sat down on the couch. He turned on the TV, but didn’t listen to whatever was playing. It was all white noise, all ringing to him. He would get over it, he knew he would. He just… needed some time. He would not be scared of anything anymore—he swore it. He was fearless! He walked with the Fakes now!

He put his face in his hands.

“Welcome home,” he said again.


	13. In Which Ryan Begins His Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to update this approximately once a week, but this chapter was.... difficult to write x.x Either way, please enjoy!

**_Jack:_ ** _Aug with vehicle-related abilities. Spells include remote starting a car, flooding enemies’ engines, and even fueling a vehicle with his magic (very tiring). Was on track to becoming a nurse, and was even in his first year residency before deciding it wasn’t for him and joined me in a lucrative life of crime._

 **_Gavin:_ ** _Reg. Specializes in field hacking, but is also pretty good at piloting. Has always been a piece of shit. Doesn’t like to talk about his past, but mostly just likes money and sticking his huge fucking nose into everyone’s business._

 **_Michael:_ ** _Aug, but his magic is passive, and he can hardly use it—or so he has always said. It basically makes him a living shield. Grew up with crime, so is very good at what he does._

 **_Ray:_ ** _Aug with perception spells. Anything your eyes see, or your ears hear—he can mess with.  Grew up with Michael, so is also very good at what he does. He and Michael are a killer team._

 **_Jeremy:_ ** _Aug with weapon creation magic, accessed through music. The guns he makes can shoot real bullets if loaded, but they’ll form automatically with a clip. The bullets fizzle out when the gun does. Not really sure where he comes from—he seems to have roadtripped here from the east coast, and was a mercenary like you for a while. It’s not that he’s secretive, he just doesn’t seem to think his past is interesting._

_Myself, I’m a Reg, too, in case you were wondering._

**_Lindsay:_ ** _Aug. She’s incredibly lucky—her magic will sometimes manipulate things randomly in her favor, but she can’t usually control when it happens. She manages our getaway vehicles, and sets up escape routes._

 **_Trevor:_ ** _Manages the Shadows, and is an expert lockpick and codebreaker. Likes to make it ambiguous whether or not he’s an Aug or a Reg. Makes me want to think he’s lucky, like Lindsay, but he likes to be fucking coy. Pretty sure he’s a Reg, though._

 **_Matt:_ ** _Reg. Was going through architecture school when he lost funds and decided it wasn’t worth it anyway. Digs up blueprints and has a superior understanding of security cameras. Also a pretty good hacker._

 **_Steffie:_ ** _Reg, very secretive, tends to worry a lot about us. She builds drones and devices, and isn’t really ever in the same room as us. You’ll probably never see her in the flesh, so let me worry about her._

 **_Kdin:_ ** _She’s our Aug who’s our eyes and ears on the ground. She listens through natural materials from afar, like wood. She’s not truly a part of the Shadows, and only really comes around when needed for a mission, but I wrote her down in case you wondered about her, since you’ve met. Let me worry about her as well._

_Burn after memorizing._

_-Geoff_

* * *

 

Ryan watched the note burn in his kitchen sink, watched the edges curl orange and paper turn black. It was a lot of information, and he was trying to sort through it all. He needed to know where to start. There were a few powers here that Ryan thought could hint at something… _stronger._ Michael’s was an odd one, for sure, which could be an easy way to hide power. Jeremy creates objects out of nothing using pure magic. And then there was Ray…

He spent the next few days alone. The only time he left his apartment was to grab groceries or takeout food. He kept the TV on nearly all the time, sometimes flipping through the channels. He let the sound fill his apartment as all the information in his head bounced around like a Boggle game.

His sleeping hours felt completely out of whack. He would go to bed at a normal hour, then wake up past noon without feeling like he slept for over 12 hours. Once, he woke up on the couch when he had fallen asleep in his bed. Another time, he started to doze off after lunch on the couch, and he woke up in his bed at three in the morning. And every time he woke up, he found something… _off._ Usually, one of his plants were simply not in its normal spot, but sometimes the TV channel had changed, or his alarm clock went off at the wrong time.

He thought he was going crazy.

Despite all this, he tried to think through Geoff’s mystery. He tried to remember every interaction he had with everyone in the Fakes. He could come up with reasons to suspect nearly everyone. Many of the criminals, like Matt and Trevor, he didn’t have many interactions with—but sometimes it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Gavin had never shown any magical talent—but Ryan knew he could keep up an act, and he wasn’t sure yet how far Gavin could keep it up if the act really mattered. Michael had a passive magic talent—could that be an easy way to hide an otherwise conspicuous power?

He studied the folder Jon had given him, scoured the stories inside. However, the stories knew _exactly_ what tale they wanted to tell, and they did not hide the powerful Aug’s abilities. Nothing here hinted at how easy it would be to hide magical talent, though he became intimately familiar with the fantastic spells the angel could cast. No, Ryan would have to look for different literature.

Ray came to check on him on the fourth day. They didn’t say much, but they sat on the couch together and took turns trying to get a difficult achievement on Ryan’s Xbox, and Ryan leaned on Ray, and Ray rested his head against Ryan’s and Ryan tried not to think about Geoff’s mystery. Tried not to think that Ray could so easily warp perceptions to make lies more believable (but what reason would he have to lie?). Everyone was capable of lying, Ryan reminded himself. Just because one had the tools to make it easier didn’t mean they were more likely to.

(But Ray had lied to him for years.)

Ray had had a very good reason to keep up that lie.

(Wouldn’t this be a good reason to lie?)

Ray had said they would die for each other. Said it with such sincerity that Ryan couldn’t even picture Ray lying to Crew. After all, he had told Geoff about Ryan’s “spots of amnesia.”

No, he would consider this later. With more evidence than just magical ability.

Ray would return every few days to check up on Ryan, and Ryan would tell him about the unusual sleeping and moving plants (was he blacking out again? Losing his memory?). But as the days went on, they became less and less frequent. The next couple weeks also had a few nights where Ryan was essentially chaperoned around to rob convenience stores. It was as if Geoff didn’t want to rush him in again—these felt like baby’s first criminal missions.

But Ryan didn’t mind. He didn’t forget a single moment.

It also seemed to double as quality time with one or two Crew members at a time, all orchestrated by Geoff. One night he tag-teamed with Michael, and another night with Jeremy. One night he had Matt watching him through the cameras as Jack waited with the getaway vehicle. After that, he was with Trevor after closing hours, with Gavin watching them and the cameras from a van parked down the street.

And in the time before and after the robbery, Ryan asked questions—made conversation.

“So you really can’t control it?” he asked Michael on the way to the store.

“Nope,” Michael said. “Fuck, imagine if I could. Maybe I could protect more people than just myself. But no, I never fucking figured out how to use this goddamn magic.”

“Why not?”

“Fuck if I know,” Michael grumbled. “Everyone else just _knows_ how to touch their magic. Mine just—happens. Fuck dude, what does it even matter? It is what it is, and I still blow shit up like the rest.”

To Jeremy, he asked, as he watched the purple machine gun fizzle away, “How in the world did you discover you could make these things out of nothing?”

“Oh man,” Jeremy said. “My neighbor had this sweet ass nerf gun when I was way younger. But Mom never let me have any toy weapons. Not even those stupid foam swords. So I was just sitting in my room one day humming to myself, and thinking about that sweet nerf gun, all the springs and orange plastic… and poof! It didn’t work, of course, but it was there.”

“You have to make music?” Ryan asked.

“It’s easer that way,” Jeremy said. “You know how like, wizards in stories have wands? It’s like that. It helps focus the magic. Pretty much everyone has a way to focus it—most just use their hands, though. It just depends on what comes naturally.”

To Jack, as they drove away with Matt breathing in their earpieces, Ryan asked, “Geoff mentioned you had been a nurse?”

“Training to be one,” Jack clarified.

“Kind of funny that a nurse would cast car-related spells,” Ryan noted.

“It is,” Jack said. “It’s not lost on me—those things don’t seem to make sense together, no. But hey, it turns out that people can have varied interests, and the magic they use doesn’t always reflect them.”

The tone felt biting, and Ryan winced. “Alright, fair enough. It’s a cool power, though—must be nice being an Aug.”

Jack shrugged, his eyes on the road, and Matt chuckled in the earpiece. “Some days I was I was an Aug,” Matt said. “But none of these guys can do what I do either.”

“It has its pros and cons,” Jack grumbled.

Ryan noted that the Regs in the Crew all seemed rather comfortable with the fact that they could not use magic. He wondered if this made all the Regs less likely to be the liar—would the angel pretend to be jealous of Augs or not?—but he couldn’t be sure. Not yet. Besides that, he still needed to learn how easy it would be for an Aug to hide their magic, but Jack had hunkered down in his seat, his eyes glued to the road, and Ryan knew this conversation really was done. They sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

The day after the robbery with Jack and Matt, Ryan visited the nearest library and asked the librarian for help on finding resources about Augs. She told him she would look, but it would take a few days since she’d probably have to borrow some books from other libraries through the mail. Ryan left his email with her and thanked her. Normally he’d ask Jon for help again, but after asking him to research the angel… he felt like he’d just be using Jon.

And a couple nights later, as Trevor crouched over the lock on the shop’s grate and Gavin watched the cameras in a van a block away, Ryan asked, “So how did you even end up with the Fakes?”

“Craigslist,” was the answer. The lock clicked.

“No way.”

“It’s true,” Gavin added over the earpiece. “We put out an ad for a specific skill set and he answered it.”

“And then you kept him.”

“Yep!” Trevor stood up, the lock hooked over his finger as he heaved the storefront’s grate up. Ryan hurried to help him. “They just couldn’t get rid of me.”

“I’m surprised,” said Ryan, as Trevor started working on the front door’s lock. “I wouldn’t think Geoff would let a Craigslist lockpick into the Crew.”

“And I wouldn’t think Geoff would let a mysterious lover boy anywhere near us,” Trevor shot back. It seemed playful, though, and his tone didn’t carry any malice. Ryan’s cheeks heated up. “And yet here we are. We all earn our keep.”

The door popped open, and Ryan didn’t ask any more questions in favor of robbing the store.

All in all, Ryan didn’t feel all that much closer to finding the liar.

He tried to ignore it for a while more, partly because it was too confusing and partly because he hoped the answer would tumble into his lap one way or another. In the meantime, he helped Jon pick out his outfit for the interview, which would take place in just a couple days.

“What about this?”

Jon held a suit jacket and pants out from the shelter of his closet as Ryan perched on the edge of the bed. Afternoon sun streamed through the window next to the bed, threading through the lampshade on the bedside table and forming a square of yellow light over the space-themed comforter. It was very cozy and warm, and Ryan was doing his best to stave off drowsiness.

“Jon, you’re not going to a black tie event,” Ryan said, biting back a snicker.

“Yeah but it sure feels like it. You know what he’s like.”

“You’re the _photographer_ ,” Ryan stressed. “You’re not even the one asking questions! You’re going to be on the side snapping pictures. You don’t need a _suit_.”

Jon sighed and disappeared into the closet again. Ryan stifled a yawn. As the sound of clothes being shoved aside and coat hangers sliding along a pole crawled from the closet, Jon spoke again.

“So how’s the job hunt? Your funds still okay?”

“I’ve got enough saved up for a while,” Ryan said. He chewed his lip. It was simultaneously easy and hard to lie about this. Even so, lying so bluntly to Jon made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “The unemployment helps. No job yet, but I’m looking.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something soon. You’re way too smart and skilled for employers to ignore you. What do you think of a vest? Or maybe a sweater?”

“As long as it’s not a sweater vest.”

“Hah hah.” Jon reappeared holding a red pinstripe vest and a blue three-quarter sleeve sports jacket. “Red or blue?”

“I always liked you in cool colors,” Ryan said with a shrug. “But it’s your choice.”

Jon rolled his eyes and chucked the jacket at Ryan, who caught it while only _mildly_ flailing. “Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.”

Jon hung the vest back up and headed for the bed to bounce onto the bed next to Ryan. Ryan folded the jacket and handed it back to him. Jon smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in the jacket and searched for loose threads that wouldn’t be there.

“It’ll be fine,” Ryan assured him. “You’ve gone over the questions with the interviewer, so all you have to worry about is hitting that shutter button. Anything else is out of your hands.”

“Yeah.” Jon sighed again and raked his fingers through his hair. He set the jacket down beside him. “I just… wish I wasn’t so anxious, you know? It’s been a few years since I worked for his company, and even then I was only there for maybe two years! I shared like, three large meetings with him. He doesn’t even really know me—he spelled my name wrong in our recent emails for fuck’s sake.”

“He’s a scary guy,” Ryan said lamely.

“I guess.” Then Jon poked Ryan in the side, making him jump. “Enough of my whining—you’re been spending more time with Ray! How’s that going? Give me the gossip.”

“It’s,” Ryan said, “going. I’ve met some of his other friends, getting to know them too.”

“Oh, that’s a good sign!”

Ryan swallowed a laugh. “I suppose so. Otherwise, we’re… still where I was last time you asked.”

“Dude, are you fucking serious?” Jon said. He poked Ryan again, and Ryan swatted at his hand. “Are you two going to dance around each other _forever?_ You gotta say something if _he’s_ not going to!”

Ryan’s face felt hot. “I just… it hasn’t ever felt right to…”

“It’s never gonna _be_ right,” Jon said with an exaggerated huff. “You just gotta buck up and do it. Make the moment yourself. It’s not going to waltz on in as you wait. Don’t you want to _know?_ ”

“But…”

“Look, Ryan, either you say something and it goes up from there, or you say something and he refuses and you move on as friends.”

Ryan groaned and flopped back on the bed. “Sometimes I feel like you’re trying to live vicariously through me for all you egg me on.”

“Live?” Jon repeated. He snorted and laughed. “I’m living enough for this interview!”

Ryan quirked an eyebrow at Jon, but now Jon was looking out the window next to his bed. Ryan sat back up with a grunt and squeezed Jon’s shoulder. The action startled Jon, and for a moment Ryan swam in Jon’s wide, bright blue eyes like a brief dizzy spell. Then Jon relaxed and shook his head as if to clear it.

“It’ll be fine,” Ryan insisted. “Your photos will turn out great and the CEO won’t have anything bad to say.”

Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Ryan pulled it out to see a text from Ray, and his heart did the little _th-thump_ it did whenever he saw Ray’s name appear on his phone.

>Ready for some real fun? Meeting tonight at Meg’s. We’ll pick you up at 5.

“Thanks for all the help,” Jon said, eyeing Ryan’s phone but thankfully keeping his distance. Ryan didn’t need another nosy friend peeking at his texts. “I suppose I should let you go now.”

“Yeah, looks like I’m hanging out with Ray tonight,” Ryan said, grinning as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He stood up from the bed and stretched, and just a moment later Jon stood as well. “I should head back home.”

“Be careful on your way back,” Jon said. “There’s been… rumors. The whole office is abuzz with how the Fakes seem to be more active recently, and there’s been rumors of a new guy.”

“Oh, Jon, you’ve been worrying too much recently,” Ryan said, giving Jon a reassuring smile as he headed for the door. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know…” Jon said softly. He stared at the blue jacket. “The odds are so low—it’s daytime, the rumors haven’t been anywhere near us—but… Just text me when you get back to your apartment.”

Ryan blinked, hesitated at the bedroom door. Normally their farewells were teasing, biting, joking. He once more felt a pang of guilt. Guilt he couldn’t do anything about—to tell Jon the truth was to spell disaster for the both of them, he could feel that. And yet, such lies were unfair to their relationship.

“I will,” he said. “I’ll text you.”

Jon looked up suddenly, grinned at Ryan. “And remember! You have to make the moment. It’s not going to just come.”

Ryan made an ugly face, wrinkling his nose and scowling. The grin turned into a smug smirk. “I hate it when you’re right.”

* * *

 

Ryan waited to be picked up at his apartment. At five before 5 o’clock, the buzzer buzzed, and Ray waited just inside the building’s front door. Ryan rushed down to greet him, and they hovered in that front room.

“Ready to go?” Ray asked. “Today is just planning, but we have to move quick. It should be pretty exciting.” He grinned broadly, wickedly, infectiously. Ryan found himself grinning back, his heart fluttering eagerly against his ribcage. Something bigger than robbing a store?

But then his smile slipped. What if he forgot again?

Ray reached out and patted his arm. “Hey, don’t worry so much. You’ve told me, it’s been happening less.”

“Yeah, I know…” Ryan flashed him another smile, and Ray nodded and turned to go.

_Make the moment._

Ryan hesitated. “Ray, before we go, I just want to say…”

Ray looked back at him, and for a moment those dark eyes trapped him. The words stuck in his throat like he had swallowed something too large. He couldn’t read Ray’s expression, couldn’t define what the stare meant, what the neutral set of the jaw meant. Maybe he would have to make the moment, but this was not it.

“Thanks for checking up on me,” he said quickly, his words tripping over his tongue. “It means a lot to me to have you there.”

And Ray’s face relaxed and he beamed. “What are friends for? Come on, Michael’s waiting.”

_Don’t you want to know?_

Oh, he sure did. It was a heavy ache in his chest, as he followed Ray out of the building and down the block to where Michael was parked on the street. He wanted to know a lot of things, but he perhaps wanted to know this most of all. The only thing he had to do was ask.

Ryan resisted the urge to sigh. Easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of little itty bitty scenes U_U it's sort of a transitional chapter, I suppose.


	14. In Which Ryan Goes to the Bank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No joke, I'm wearing my "I Do Words Good" t-shirt as I wrote the majority of this today, and I had to ask my friend what bank tellers were called. It's just that kind of day.
> 
> Enjoy. It's another long one (oops).

“Kdin has heard wind of a Funhaus plan,” said Geoff to his Crew. Kdin herself was not present—her job was complete—but now Geoff relayed the information. “In two days’ time, they plan on holding up a bank downtown. This is our chance to surprise _them_ for once, so we have to prepare quickly. This is a Face mission, of course, but I’ll still need Matt on the cameras so that Gavin can be behind the screen for a different task. Ray, Jack, and Jeremy will already be on the inside, and Michael and Ryan will come in later with extra munitions and to block off the front entrance.”

“You want me there?” Ryan blurted. “I’m—I’m not a Face.”

Geoff pointed at him, smirking. “No, but James is one of Funhaus’s most active members. He’s on basically every high profile mission they do—and boy does he seem to have it out for you. He’ll get tunnel vision for you, which means we can deal with everyone else with ease. Just try not to die, or get thrown around too much.”

So he was bait for the man who was perhaps their strongest Aug. Ryan nodded and swallowed hard. Ray reached up from the couch to pat him on the back.

“Right,” said Geoff, clapping his hands. “Trevor and Michael, I want a full inventory of any useful weapons by tomorrow morning. Matt and Gavin, work with Steffie to get camera access in the bank and on the streets, and any helpful blueprints. Jack and Lindsay, work out the vehicles. Anyone else… just be ready.”

“What about you, Geoff?” Jeremy called from his spot on the floor. “You’re not going in there with us?”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Geoff said. “I’ll be watching you all with Matt and Gavin.”

“Typical boss,” Michael snickered. Ryan swept his gaze over the rest of the Fakes. He wondered if anyone would be disgruntled that Geoff wouldn’t be on the front lines with them. He wondered if that would mean anything if they were. But no one seemed particularly grumpy—this seemed like something Geoff did a lot. Jack crossed his arms and shook his head, but to Ryan it seemed more like someone used to Geoff’s shit.

Geoff dismissed them with the promise to reconvene tomorrow to discuss the plan in more detail. He and those with assigned tasks left Meg’s living room, leaving Ryan with Ray and Jeremy.

“Pretty exciting, huh?” Ray said, patting the newly emptied spot on the couch next to him. Ryan flopped down with a sigh, and Jeremy hopped onto the couch a few seconds later. “No more robbing shitty little stores for a while.”

“Well the last one was a bit nicer,” Ryan said. “Had a grate and everything, and overpriced clothes. And I didn’t have to draw the attention of a telekinetic criminal.”

Ray lightly punched him in the arm. “You know what I mean.”

“And hey, Funhaus shouldn’t catch us by surprise this time,” Jeremy said. “Or at least, if they do… Well at that point, they deserve whatever they’re going for, jeez. Anyway, hopefully you don’t have to go _nuts_ this time,” he added with a laugh.

Ryan scowled and narrowed his eyes. But he bit his tongue when he felt Ray’s hand squeeze his arm briefly. Jeremy didn’t seem to notice his expression anyway.

“Man, I kinda wish I had a job to do right now like the others,” Ray said. Ryan relaxed into the couch. He was redirecting the conversation. “I can’t go to bed while the _sun_ is still up.”

“I got a job for you,” Jeremy said. “Find something for us to do.”

Ray leaned forward to throw a pillow past Ryan at Jeremy. It hit Jeremy in the face, and he flailed but somehow caught it. Ryan ducked as the pillow sailed back over him. He heard the pillow plop against the hardwood floor of the hallway.

“Oh come on! Cheater!” Jeremy groaned. Ryan glanced back at Ray only to discover he’d disappeared. The couch shook as Jeremy leapt to his feet, a second pillow in hand. Ryan watched him scan the (seemingly) empty room, resisting the urge to chuckle. Looks like they had found something to do.

“Found you, asshole!” Jeremy cried, chucking his pillow at a spot in the room that Ryan’s eyes seemed to slide over. He could suddenly focus on that spot when Ray yelped and lost his spell, the pillow smacking him in the arm as he tried to duck. Then Jeremy charged him before he could slip away again, and both of them thumped to the floor, laughing as they wrestled.

Ryan got up from the couch and stood next to the coffee table with his arms crossed to watch them. The fight didn’t last long—Jeremy was much better at close combat than Ray, and it took less than a minute for Jeremy to pin Ray to the ground and sit on top of him. Ray accepted his fate as a part of the carpet and lay defeated with Jeremy on his back.

“Had enough, children?” Ryan asked lightly, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re bored, there are such things as movies, games, et cetera.”

“Hmm…” Jeremy hummed and shared a glance with Ray. Both wore bemused expressions, their lips pursed and brows furrowed as if in deep thought. “You know, Ray, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ryan run. Like, _really_ run.”

“You know, Jeremy,” said Ray, “I think you’re right.”

Ryan took a step back and raised his arms as Jeremy started to rap under his breath. “Uh, guys…”

Two bright orange Nerf guns appeared in Jeremy’s hands, and Ryan took his cue. He shouted, “You’ll never take me alive!” and dashed away. He heard them clamber to their feet, but he yanked open the front door and ran outside before any Nerf darts could hit him.

“Get back here, Ryan!” Jeremy shouted. “Accept your fate!”

“Never!”

The two lads chased him all around the block. Partway through, Jeremy paused to summon him a gun, and they took their battle to Meg’s backyard until the sun went down. Then they moved inside and put on the movie _Mean Girls_ in Meg’s living room. The lads didn’t even make it halfway before falling asleep, one against each of Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he felt so cozy, and he happily watched the movie as the only one awake.

That was how Geoff found them later.

“You know,” he said slowly—softly, as to not wake Jeremy and Ray. “When I left you three alone, I sort of expected you to get stuff done, not have a Nerf war.”

Ryan would have shrugged, but the movement would jostle the two snoozing lads.

(“The limit does not exist!” said Lindsay Lohan. Her team cheered as she won the math competition.)

“I dunno what you want me to do,” Ryan said. “These things take time.”

“I am an impatient man, and for good reason.”

Ryan sighed. “I understand, Geoff.”

Geoff tossed a set of keys on the coffee table in front of Ryan. The sound made Jeremy snort and shift, but Ray remained deeply asleep.

“Get Jeremy to drive you home. We’ll fetch you again tomorrow, and you should bring an overnight bag.”

“Yes, Geoff.”

Geoff left the room to the sound of Lindsay Lohan giving a thoughtful speech at the school dance. The time for coziness was done, and it was with regret that he disturbed the peace. Ryan gently shook Jeremy awake with a heavy heart.

* * *

 

Jeremy yawned as the car braked at a red light. “Ah, that Nerf war was _exhausting._ I’m surprised you didn’t conk out like me and Ray.”

“The Nerf guns were pretty fun,” Ryan said. “I’m glad you gave _me_ one eventually.”

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, as fun as it was seeing you run like mad, after a while it’s more fun to have you fight back.”

Ryan chuckled. “So are weapons and weapon-like things really all you can make?”

The light turned green again, finally. “It’s what comes easiest. I don’t know why—it’s the intent, maybe? But even if I could build a coffee maker or something from scratch with real parts, I couldn’t make it with magic. Even like, a fucking bowl requires way more energy and concentration than it should.”

“Do you ever wish you could?”

Jeremy snorted. “Are you kidding? It’s like you’re asking me if I ever wished for unlimited power. Duh? Imagine how useful it would be! Then again, Geoff would put me on like, every fucking mission, and I don’t know if I can take that. A man needs his breaks sometimes, yeah?”

Ryan agreed, and allowed the conversation to steer towards more idle chatter.  He noted how even when faced with the idea of unlimited power, Jeremy still saw himself as following Geoff’s leadership. This really was a loyal bunch. He could see why Geoff couldn’t figure out this mystery on his own.

They pulled up in front of Ryan’s apartment, and Jeremy said, “It’s great having you around. Before you, I was the newest guy.” He grinned. “I ain’t the smallest fry anymore.”

“Well, maybe not in a physical sense,” Ryan said.

“Oh, you!” Jeremy reached over with one hand and shoved him. Ryan popped the door open, snickering as he waved farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, asshole!”

* * *

 

The next day, everyone was devoted to planning—and the day after that, it was go time.

Ryan’s stomach was a nauseating mixture of excitement and dread. He rode on the back of Michael’s motorcycle, holding on to the lad as they weaved through traffic towards the bank. His blood sang with adrenaline—and yet his gut twisted with the fear that he would forget again. He tried to focus on the excitement—but the dread lingered in the back of his head, constantly at the edge of his thoughts.

Kdin’s report said that Funhaus planned to be at the bank near closing hours, so the sun was still up and the city was in flux with afternoon traffic beginning its merge into evening traffic. Jack, Jeremy, and Ray were already in the bank, and they and Gavin and Matt were chatting in the earpieces over the roar of the wind and motorcycle.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” said Jeremy. “If they wanted to convince us we _really_ need to buy and wear snapbacks, they’d try harder.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” said Ray. “You wear _cowboy hats._ You’re from Boston.”

“Jack, you can’t think Ray looks cool in that.”

“He does have a point—you _do_ wear cowboy hats,” Jack quipped. “And you’re not even Southern.” Jeremy groaned.

“Alright,” said Matt, and the other three fell silent. “I’ve got eyes on some Funhaus guys. James and Adam are breaking in from an upper floor. There’s sure to be more, but they’re avoiding the cameras. Be ready.”

“Ryan and I are a two minutes out at our current speed,” Michael said.

“That seems good,” Gavin said. “Someone’s already put the cameras on a feedback loop for the security office. Probably Lawrence, so he shouldn’t show up.”

“He’s not really a front line man anyway,” Jack noted. “Wait—I see more Funhaus, entering through the front. I see Bruce, Elyse, and… Spoole?”

“ _Spoole?_ Gavin repeated. “He’s not usually on these missions, what’s he doing here?”

“He keeps glancing at our corner,” Ray said quietly. “He shouldn’t even think about seeing us here. Do we know if Spoole is an Aug?”

“I only have confirmation Aug for Lawrence, James, and Bruce,” Gavin said. “So I don’t know.”

The bank was in view, down the street. Ryan tightened his arms around Michael’s middle as the motorcycle wove around cars, feeling Michael’s Kevlar vest under his brown leather jacket—feeling his own Kevlar vest press against his chest. The motorcycle helmet was a bit snug, as he had worn his mask underneath it, but that couldn’t be helped. They were to make a show, and he wouldn’t have the time to put the mask on otherwise.

Then there were screams, and a few people spilled out of the bank. Not even a moment later, Jack reported, “They are starting.”

“Wait until Michael and Ryan are there,” Gavin said. “Ray, keep the spell up. They’ll be there in ten seconds.”

The motorcycle braked, and as soon as Michael hit the kickstand on the bike and killed the engine, they were both off. Ryan grabbed the carbine slung over his back on a strap, and Michael grabbed a sawed-off shotgun strapped to the back of the bike. They left their helmets there and strode towards the bank. They did not run—they were not in so much of a rush that they needed to run.

“Three…” counted Matt. “Two… One!”

Together, Ryan and Michael kicked the doors of the bank open. The inside was in full swing already. The wide lobby was a flurry of movement as civilians ducked and ran for cover behind armchairs, pressed against the walls and potted plants. Bank tellers dove behind their counters as bullets echoed. It wasn’t terribly crowded, but there were still maybe a dozen people. The three Funhaus members who had walked in had spread in the center of the lobby, guns raised high.

Ryan had never been in this bank before, but he knew the layout from the blueprints, and knew that it was without artificial dead zones. It was wide open, the floors hard and the light fluorescent white and harsh as it shone down on arranged black armchairs and wooden coffee tables. Waist-high windows lined the three outside walls. A hallway on the back left, there, would lead to offices and the elevators. The hallway on the back right showed the signs for restrooms. Jack, Ray, and Jeremy had spread out, unnoticed under Ray’s spell, and now as Michael and Ryan burst through the front door, they emerged like ghosts from the ocean of civilians to surround Funhaus.

“This is a robbery!” shouted Bruce.

“Is it?” called Michael, laughter tugging his words.

Bruce, Elyse, and Spoole all turned, all saw the five Fakes surrounding them, now the last ones standing among the civilians. Ryan and Michael were blocking the front entrance, which meant both innocents and criminals could not leave easily. Ryan’s heart raced. Every person he glanced at showed wide eyes, were making themselves as small as they could. He would not harm them on purpose, of course, but they didn’t know that—he was feared.

“Oh, fuck,” said Elyse simply.

Michael was cackling as Funhaus sprinted for the counter the tellers had ducked behind. The Fakes fired at them, careful not to aim at each other. There was a door behind the teller’s counter, but the cover fire meant Funhaus could not leave the safety of the counters. More people screamed.

Their firing paused for a moment, and Ryan heard… was that singing?

Elyse popped up from the counter, her own shotgun at the ready and a golden glow surrounding her. She popped off a shot at Jeremy, who ducked and rolled with a swear, before ducking back down.

“Careful!” Gavin squeaked in the earpiece. “Bruce is a bard. He’ll make his teammates more potent, more accurate!”

Elyse popped up again, golden, this time with an assault rifle, and the Fakes scattered as bullets ripped through the air, shattering against the stone walls. Ryan dashed to the left, sliding behind a vacant chair just as Ray ducked for the same one.

“Why, hello,” said Ryan. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Please,” Ray said, grinning and biting down giggles. “Concentrate.”

Matt mused aloud in their earpieces. “Surely they’ve called James and Adam for help by now, but they’re still running around on the second floor, like they’re searching… Oh, no, they’re coming now. Maybe twenty seconds.”

The patter of assault rifle died down, and Ryan and Ray rolled away from each other. Ryan got his feet under him, rising to a crouch as he aimed down his carbine. He fired off a few warning shots, but mostly he watched for movement. Jack was up and marching around, his assault rifle at the ready as he barked orders at the civilians.

“Everyone stay down unless you want a nice bullet lodged between your ribs!”

“Cops have been called, by the way,” Gavin said. “I’ll give them ten minutes tops.”

Matt hummed over the comms. “And… here’s James and Adam.”

James charged down the hallway at the back left, and as soon as he appeared a small ceramic pot hurled away from him, flung by his telekinesis towards Jack. Ryan snapped his gun up and squeezed the trigger, letting out a steady breath as his eyes followed the pot. To his great surprise, it actually shattered. Jack jumped and raised an arm to defend his face against the shards. Elyse and Bruce both poked their heads out to blindly fire into the room, forcing the other Fakes into cover again. Ryan was no longer next to Ray, and he wasn’t sure where the others were now.

“You!” screamed James. Ryan’s heart dropped. Adam was right behind James, and he lunged for his friend’s arm, but James was already charging. “How dare you show yourself around here now!”

The good news was that the plan was working. The bad news was that the plan was working. Ryan raised his carbine, but James was faster than he thought. The moment James was close enough to use his magic, the carbine jerked to the side and it slipped from Ryan’s grasp to skitter across the floor.

Ryan flung himself down, bracing himself. Flattening himself didn’t seem to help. The tickle of telekinesis ran over the skin on Ryan’s back like a breeze, and he was hauled up by the back of his jacket in time for James to ram his shoulder into him. His bulletproof vest took a lot of the impact, but James must have also used his magic to put extra _oomph_ into his charge. The wind flew out of his lungs as Ryan’s feet left the ground.

His back slammed into the wall, and he could only wheeze as he sunk down against it. His legs didn’t want to hold him up. Bullets echoed all around the back, screams ripped through the air. As he gasped, he quickly scanned the room. The civilians closest to the front door had escaped through it, but there were still several at the far edges, some inching towards the restrooms, some cowering under coffee tables. Ray had started shooting at James, but now Adam was shooting back at Ray so that James could reappear from behind a chair. The other three Fakes were on the other side of the room keeping the three Funhaus people behind the counters preoccupied.

Ryan’s hands went for his knives, and he regretted not asking for a pistol as a backup weapon. He took a deep breath and felt himself… _zone in_. His focus was on James now. James raised a pistol, aimed it at Ryan’s head.

“I’ll finish you off this time, _vagabond_ ,” James hissed.

Ryan did something that was probably stupid. He laughed, and when James’s eyes flashed, he rolled _forward._ He felt the bullet’s impact hit the vest in his back, hard enough to bruise, but then he popped up to his feet right in front of James. He slashed James’s hand across its back, and the pistol was also flung across the floor with a sprinkle of gorgeous, deep red. The scream James let out was truly guttural, truly inhuman. More from being hurt in the first place rather than being in pain.

James lunged for him. They grappled, James grabbing the wrist of the hand holding the knife, and their other hands gripping each other. James was stronger than Ryan, but Ryan held his own for now. He chuckled.

“I’m glad you’re so happy to see me! I hope it was a _pleasant_ surprise,” Ryan taunted.

James barked a laugh. “You think this was a surprise?” he said, baring his teeth in a vicious grin. “ _You_ might have been a surprise, sure, but we knew you’d send people here.”

Ryan faltered, let his grip slacken just for a moment. James spun him around and attempted to wrap his arm around Ryan’s neck. Ryan dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, popping back up to slash at James and force him away.

“You can’t have known,” Ryan hissed. “That’s impossible.”

James laughed again. Ryan lunged with his knife, and James dodged to the side.

“It’s not impossible when you have a semi-clairvoyant,” he said through his mad giggles. “You Fakes might not tell us who this powerful Aug on your side is, but Spoole knows where you send them!”

 _Spoole._ Ryan glanced at the tellers’ counter. The redhead who wore baseball caps would know where they send the angel? Did that even make sense?

In the seconds of his distractions, James’s fist met his skull, and—it happened again.

He knew _instinctually_ that he had blacked out long before he knew _consciously_ he had. He knew it from being in a slightly different place (though still in the bank), knew it from being slightly more winded with new aches all over his arms and torso, and knew it from Gavin and Matt shouting urgently in his earpiece about the imminent arrival of police.

Oh, and he knew it from the warm blood oozing against his hand, and from his knife currently in James’s side.

He hesitated, and that was all the opening James needed. James, with a new bruise around his blue eyes, with a second cut on his other arm and across his thigh, and with a knife just missing his organs. James flung his arms forward, and Ryan felt the very air seize around him. His feet left the ground once more, and he sailed through the air—too surprised to even scream.

He collided with the base of a window, and the shockwave from the magic shattered it, sprinkling him with glass as he thumped heavily back to the floor. He groaned, his ears ringing, his whole body aching. Sirens wailed outside. Any second now, police would burst through the door, and the fight would be over one way or another. He had to _get up._

It took Herculean strength, but he heaved himself up, pushed his hands against the ground and kneeled for a moment. He took a deep breath—took a couple breaths, and stood.

He faced the rest of the bank. The shape of the battlefield had changed. Chairs were shredded, peppered with bullet holes, and the lobby was littered with broken pieces of pottery and flooring. Jack had a wound on his upper arm, and Jeremy had a cut on his forehead that was bleeding profusely. Bruce, Elyse, and Spoole had managed to get free of the counter, and Adam had rushed to James’s side as James hunched over, his hands pressing against his bloodied side. Now all the present Funhaus members were on one side of the bank, and the Fakes were on the other—the same side as Ryan.

That was when he heard a camera’s shutter sound. He whipped his gaze around to the figure hunkered against the wall and felt his blood run cold. Jon slowly lowered his camera with shaking hands, his eyes locked on Ryan’s. His face was pale, but he didn't seem injured. _W_ _hat was he doing here?_ He was wearing the blue jacket. _The interview had been today._

“Out the broken window!” Matt said in their ears. “The police is about to come through the front.”

“We’ve done our job,” Gavin said. “Get out of there!”

Ryan glared at Jon and didn’t respond right away. He took a step, and Jon shuddered and withdrew. Ryan narrowed his eyes.

“Little cameraman,” he growled, his voice gravelly. “You should be more careful.”

He felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him towards the window. “Alright, Vagabond or whatever you want to call yourself,” Ray said. “It’s time to go.”

Without waiting for an answer, Ray moved past Ryan and vaulted through the window to the alleyway beyond. They let Jack go through next, leaving Jeremy, Michael, and Ryan still in the bank when the police stormed through the front doors. Guns were firing anew. Since Ryan still didn’t have his gun back, Michael and Jeremy gave him cover fire as he climbed through next.

He put his hands on the waist-high sill between shards of glass and jumped to swing his legs over. As he did so, he felt something solid strike his shoulder, just missing the straps of the Kevlar vest. He jerked forward, and _then_ the searing pain hit. His arm crumpled underneath his weight, and he cried out as he fell the rest of the way through the window.

It was good that Ray and Jack were there, even with Jack’s wounded arm, or else he would have probably tumbled onto his head. No, instead he made the other two stumble, and he was lowered awkwardly and quickly to the ground.

“Ryan, Ryan! Where’d it hit?” Ray asked frantically.

“I’m fine,” Ryan gasped, struggling to his feet. “Just the shoulder.”

Jeremy and Michael hopped through the window in quick succession, and the five of them didn’t wait around. They sprinted down the alleyway, towards a van parked on the road a block away.

Ryan’s head swam with adrenaline and thoughts. The Los Santos evening air rasped through his lungs, and his heart beat strong despite his aches and the now-dull pain in his shoulder. He might have forgotten some of the fight again, but the parts he did remember—a thrill.

Next to the Fakes, next to _Ray_ , with sirens in the air and his shoulder pounding, he felt _alive_.


	15. In Which Jon Asks For Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess this is just a fic of long chapters. Enjoy!

The moment Ryan got to the getaway car, he realized he was not as okay as he thought. As he climbed into the back seat and his adrenaline rush began to fade, his whole body was shaking and his shoulder burned and ached.

“Michael, you drive,” Jack ordered, getting into the backseat with Ryan. “Ryan needs first aid for his shoulder before he loses too much blood.”

As the others got in and the van hummed to life, Ryan followed Jack’s gentle but firm instructions. He took off his mask and shrugged off his jacket, sucking in a breath as the muscle in his shoulder protested by stabbing him again. He was sad to see the bloodied hole in the leather, but Meg would be able to fix it again. Then he took off his shirt, and the action made tears spring to his eyes.

“Drive steady,” Jack called to the front. Ryan put his back to Jack as he pulled a large first aid kit from under the seat. Ryan hissed as Jack began to disinfect the wound and wipe away the sticky blood. Ray twisted in his seat and reached past his headrest for Ryan’s hand. Ryan gripped it hard. Jack put pressure on the wound and wrapped the shoulder in gauze.

“There’s a good chance the bullet injured the bone, too, but I won’t be able to tell here,” Jack said. “Probably not worse than a fracture, judging by what I _can_ see. For now, you should be fine. It doesn’t seem too bad, and luckily it’s your right shoulder—the bleeding is already slowing. You should keep your shoulder elevated.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said, letting go of Ray’s hand and turning back around to face Jack again. “You’re just… leaving it in there?”

Jack shrugged. “It’s what usually happens, yeah. It would _probably_ be fine to remove the bullet, but if it doesn’t cause any problems in there, then there’s no point in risking making new problems by removing it.”

“I see.”

Jack patted Ryan’s good shoulder and sat back, putting the medkit back together in his lap. “You should be fine with some rest and lots of fluids. At a different hideout, we have an x-ray machine, to see if your bone’s fractured or not.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

* * *

 

It must have been something like an hour later—Ryan lost track of time as he dozed in the back seat—when they got back to Meg’s house. As soon as they were through the door, Gavin appeared from somewhere and ran into Michael’s arms. He pressed his face into the brown leather jacket.

“Glad everyone made it back, Michael-boi,” Gavin said, muffled by Michael’s shoulder. Then he straightened, looking over at Ryan as Michael pinched his cheek. He held out Ryan’s phone—he had left it here for the mission. “Your phone’s been ringing for at least half an hour. Someone really wants to talk to you.”

Ryan’s heart dropped. He glanced at Ray before taking the phone and looking at the lock screen. It was who he expected.

“It’s Jon,” he said. The phone buzzed in his hand. “I need to take this.”

As he retreated upstairs, Jack called to him, “Come back as soon as you deal with that! I still need to look at your injury!”

Ryan didn’t respond. He went to Ray’s and Jeremy’s room and shut the door behind him to answer the call.

“Finally,” wavered Jon’s voice. It sounded weak, if not downright feeble.

“Jon? What’s up? What’s wrong?” He winced even as he asked that. He felt like he was mocking Jon, knowing he had been at the bank. Jon was holding the mouthpiece of his phone close, and Ryan could hear his breathing.

“I’m at your apartment,” Jon whispered. “Please let me in.”

“I’m not home right now, Jon…”

“Please?”

Ryan chewed his lip. “I’ll be there soon. I’ll head there right away. Will you be okay until I get back?”

He listened to Jon inhale and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Hang tight. I’m coming as fast as I can.”

“Okay.”

Ryan hung up and left the room, returning downstairs to where the Fakes were still gathered. They quieted and stared at him as he entered the room.

“My friend is outside my apartment,” he said. “I need to go to him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jack said. “You just got shot. I’m not letting you just go out while we’re still unsure of your condition!”

“Luckily it’s not up to you,” said Geoff, making his appearance from down the hall behind Ryan. “Why do you need to go?”

“I…” Ryan bit his lip. “He sounded in bad shape. I can’t leave him there.”

“You probably shouldn’t be driving,” Geoff said. Ryan opened his mouth, but Geoff raised a hand. “Jack, change his bandages and do whatever you need to do in the next fifteen minutes. Then I will drive him home, and bring him back when he’s done taking care of his friend. Ray, why don’t you tag along and keep me company while we wait for Ryan.”

“Sure, Geoff,” said Ray.

“Geoff!” Jack protested.

“You can get your x-ray or whatever when he comes back,” said Geoff.

Jack scowled and crossed his arms. “Fine. If that’s what you want, boss.”

Ryan thanked Geoff profusely as Jack dragged him to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes, a clean face, and one fresh shirt later, Ryan was out the door.

* * *

 

Ray and Geoff chatted in the front seat idly, mostly about the mission. Geoff seemed mildly irritated that they couldn’t do more lasting damage to Funhaus, but he was glad that Ryan’s shoulder was the worst injury.

“And Ryan did stab James,” Ray reminded him. “He’s not going to recover easily from that.”

“True,” Geoff said, glancing over his shoulder at Ryan. “He’ll be out of commission at least as long as you. Good job keeping him busy.”

“It was…” Ryan hesitated. “I forgot again. I missed a big part of that fight.”

The front seat was quiet, and Ryan winced. Ray twisted around in his seat to stare at him. Geoff sighed.

“This is becoming a problem,” said Geoff.

“You don’t have to tell me that!” Ryan snapped back before he could help himself. “I don’t _want_ to forget!”

“I don’t think you missed much,” Ray offered. “You did declare yourself officially the Vagabond, though.”

“Oh. _That’s_ nice. I _guess_.” Ray snorted, and the sound made Ryan smile.

Geoff didn’t laugh. “Ryan,” he said slowly. “You’ve said you’re a Reg, right?”

Ryan’s smile fell. Ray glanced between them, a frown making his brow crinkle. “I am.”

“He is,” Ray added. “He’s never done any magic around me, if that’s what you’re implying!”

“Okay! Alright!” Geoff said, hunching his shoulders defensively. “I just figured I’d ask! Pulling at straws here.”

“Right,” Ryan said. “But believe me, I have never cast any spell or felt any magic, according to how it’s described.”

“Fair enough,” Geoff said. “I figured it was unlikely, but thought I should ask anyway.”

Ryan glanced out the window at the passing city. He had read many reports and stories of Augs when he was younger. When he was a teenager, he had desperately wanted to be an Aug, even just a weak one. To feel magic coursing through him, a surge of sweetness like laughter… He had secretly tried all the exercises, done all the routines. Nothing. He was as Reg as the majority of the population.

No, he didn’t know what was causing his lapses in memory, but it surely wasn’t magic. Stress, maybe? An outside force?

They pulled up to his apartment, and he was pulled from his thoughts when he saw Jon just inside the doors. Jon was huddled against the wall near the interior doors, and was not looking towards the street. He was still standing, but looked as though the wall was the only thing holding him up. His arms wrapped around his stomach, and his hair shielded his face.

“I’ll be back,” Ryan muttered.

Ryan hurried through the exterior doors of his apartment building and went straight to Jon. He shook Jon’s shoulder with his good arm. Jon’s face was ashen as he stared at Ryan.

“Dear god,” Ryan whispered. His stomach twisted. Had he really scared him that bad? “What happened to you?”

Jon shook his head. “Can’t talk about it here,” he said. His voice was weak—faint.

“Then let’s go up,” Ryan said. He dug in his pockets for his keys and unlocked the interior doors, careful to avoid using his right arm as much as possible. Every movement he made with that arm made him at minimum bite his tongue and hold his breath to resist grunting. Surely Jon had seen him—the Vagabond—get shot.

Jon trailed him to the elevators like a lost child. Ryan led him into his apartment and to the couch. He left Jon there and stepped into his little kitchen to busy himself, using his left hand more as he opened cabinets and searched for cups and ingrediants.

“Can I get you something?” Ryan babbled. “Coffee? Tea? Water? Milk?”

“Ryan.”

Jon was sitting up straighter, and he fixed Ryan with an intense stare. Ryan suppressed a shiver. Jon patted the couch beside him, and Ryan joined him.

“What I’m going to tell you is off the record,” Jon said. His voice seemed stronger, though there was still a hint of wavering. “I’m not supposed to share this information with _anyone._ ”

“Then why…? Is this about the interview?” Ryan asked. He had to be careful even in his confusion. He knew the interview had been today, but only the Vagabond knew Jon had been at the bank. Jon hadn’t mentioned the bank yet—so what was bothering him?

“It… is, I guess,” Jon said. “God, I—we were taken to the bank after the official interview. To make everything worse, the two biggest gangs decided to have a fight in the lobby.”

“Oh my god,” Ryan breathed. “Are you—you’re alright, right?”

Jon barked a laugh. “Hah! Yes. It was a mess but I got out unscathed. I got one good thing out of it—a picture of the new guy. The one people are calling the Vagabond. That’ll be a cute little article on the website.”

“You did!” Ryan exclaimed. Inwardly, his thoughts had turned into a stream of _fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck_. “The—Vagabond? I haven’t heard…”

“That’s because you never watch the _news_ ,” Jon said. It almost sounded like his old humor, but then he sighed and closed his eyes.

“We were made to sign contracts saying we wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s not ready for the big reveal yet, or whatever, but the CEO wanted to ‘treat a former employee.’ We even signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“And you can’t talk about this with the other interviewer?”

Jon shook his head. “Omar is too good. He wouldn’t talk.”

“And yet here _you_ are…” Ryan paused and pursed his lips. If he kept interrupting Jon, he’d never get to the point. “No, just go ahead. Tell me.”

“I saw the machine,” Jon said. His eyes were wide, their brilliant color making Ryan’s head swim. “I saw it in action. He took us down the street to the bank, where they were keeping it for the time being. It’s… a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Maybe ten feet wide, eight feet tall, with a place to stick your hand in and monitors to show what it reads. He wanted us to try it out—the first people to try it, outside of lab rats. My coworker, he’s an Aug but a weak one. He went first, and the monitors showed a color and said he was best at object repair. He said it felt weird, but not… _bad_. Just unfamiliar.

“And I went next, and I thought I was going to be sick! I’m—I’m a Reg, right? I just had the absolute worst feeling running through me. Like _poison_. They said the machine shouldn’t affect Regs, but he ran the sequence anyway, and it didn’t stop until I threw up.” Jon groaned and hunched over, pressing his forehead against his knees. “I’m still fucking nauseated.”

He slowly sat up again, staring at his lap. “I don't trust him—he’s up to something, I _know_ it. The machine isn’t the last thing he wants to fund. He’s researched a lot about magic. I don’t know what his plans are, but…”

Ryan felt anger flare up, hot in his gut and in his head. “What are you gonna do about it? Surely you’re not gonna leave it at that.”

Jon glanced at Ryan and quirked his eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a piece of cardstock. When he handed it to Ryan, his hand was shaking. “He invited us to a sort of… _release banquet._ A black tie event where he reveals it publically and boasts about the research he’s funded to a bunch of rich people and reporters. There’s still preparations to be made, but it won’t be long. I want you to be my plus one.”

Ryan read the invitation. The event would take place in the Saga Systems building in one of the ballrooms sometimes used for large conferences. Which meant the machine would be there—if not at the party itself, then safely in another room. And some of the offices would be there, which meant files to be found. Access to the identification machine… He’d be able to help Jon in his personal quest and _also_ potentially find the angel in the Fakes.

“I’m going to find out what else he has planned,” Jon said. “And I need your help to do it.”

“You have it,” Ryan said. “I’ll help you.”

Jon sighed again and smiled weakly, leaning back into the couch and letting his head fall back against the cushion. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Now I’m sorry to impose, but… I would really like to stay the night. I still need to sort through my thoughts.”

“Of course,” Ryan said, shooting to his feet. “I’ll get you some blankets. Anything in the kitchen is free for consumption.”

“Thanks,” he said again.

By the time Ryan retrieved a blanket from the closet in his loft and returned, Jon was already asleep. Ryan hesitated, then lay the blanket over Jon. He waited a few minutes before softly calling Jon’s name to get no response. Then he grabbed his keys and tiptoed out his own front door.

* * *

 

Ryan leaned against Geoff’s passenger window, resting his arm on the door as he looked past Ray’s head. “I gotta stay here,” he said. “Jon’s staying the night. He seems in bad shape.”

Geoff sighed and rested his forehead against the top of the steering wheel. “I was afraid of this.”

“Did you scare him that bad?” Ray asked, frowning.

Ryan shook his head. “It didn’t help, but that’s not what he’s worried about, actually. He just was a part of an important interview, and he’s still recovering.”

“Jack’s not going to be happy about this,” Geoff said. “He’s gonna demand you send him home, probably.”

Ryan shook his head again and winced. “I can’t. What kind of friend would I be?”

“I could stay,” Ray said. “Jack’s taught me a bit of first aid. I can make sure Ryan doesn’t like, bleed out or something until tomorrow.”

Geoff hummed and stroked his chin. “That seems fine by me,” he said finally. “I’ll let Jack know. He’ll want you back early.”

“Not my choice,” Ryan muttered, glancing over his shoulder at his apartment building. Ryan backed up so that Ray could open his door. Ryan let him pass by, but didn’t follow. “You have the spare, right? Go on ahead, I have to talk to Geoff about something.”

Ray stopped, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth, paused, tilted his head, then shrugged and turned towards the apartment building. Ryan waited until Ray was inside before turning back to Geoff and slipping Jon’s invitation out of his pocket. He handed it over, and as Geoff read it, he said, “Jon was a part of an interview about a machine that can measure magic in an Aug. It can tell how powerful one is, and what their specialty is. That’s an invitation for a reveal party down the road, and I’ll be Jon’s plus one.”

Geoff whistled. “This could be a good opportunity, if I’m assuming what I think you’re assuming. You want to use this to expose our lying Aug?” Ryan nodded. “Seems like you better have a good idea who it might be, then. Any leads?”

Ryan pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder. He could see Ray all the way at the back wall of the interior, hands jammed in his pockets and his head hanging as he stared at his feet. Ryan felt like maybe an anchor was tied to his stomach and was slowly sinking lower and lower. “I have some new information, but we’ll have to discuss it later.”

Geoff didn’t reply right away. He looked at the invitation for a few moments as though deep in thought, but his eyes didn’t move from a fixed spot. Finally, he handed the invitation back and said, “Give this back to Jon so he doesn’t miss it. We’ll discuss this later in private.”

Ryan nodded again and stepped away from the car. Geoff revved the engine to life, and Ryan watched him pull away before heading into the building to rejoin Ray. He wanted desperately for Ray to not be the angel, but unfortunately he was still on the list of suspects, and Ryan could not ignore that. Ray was potentially a liar—him or any of the men present at the bank.

But Ryan shoved that in the back of his mind and grinned at Ray. He’d be staying the night!

“What was that about?” Ray asked.

“Oh, it was just,” Ryan said. “I had a few questions for him that I—didn’t want to ask in front of you.”

Ray blinked, then shrugged. “Alright. Whatever.”

“Oh yeah, um…” Ryan added, remembering how reluctant Ray had been to share a bed when Ryan was strangely ill. “Since Jon is there, you can’t sleep on the couch…”

“Your bed’s a queen, isn’t it?” Ray asked. He shrugged again. “It’s fine.”

It was an interesting feeling—having a stomach full of butterflies as well as a gut full of lead.

* * *

 

Ryan didn’t quite wake up, but rather decided he wouldn’t sleep anymore. His night had been restless—as per Ray’s suggestion, he had propped himself up on pillows to keep his shoulder more elevated. It hadn't been much better than sleeping in a chair.

He shifted to a more upright position and suppressed a soft moan. His shoulder had adopted a deep ache, and he massaged it, kneading the muscle around the wound itself through the t-shirt he wore to bed. It was then he realized that Ray was awake and lying on his back, his hands folded over his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. He looked stiff, but when he realized Ryan was looking at him, he rolled onto his side and propped his head up on an elbow to give Ryan a placid look.

“Morning, sunshine,” Ryan whispered.

“Sure is morning, yeah,” Ray said. “You’re up early.”

“So are you. I, at least, have an excuse.”

“I dunno. I just woke up a bit ago and just—didn’t go back to sleep. Been thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Just—thinking.” Ray flopped over, pressing his face into the pillow. “Your mattress is comfy,” he mumbled, muffled by the bed.

“Thanks,” Ryan said, smiling despite himself. “I splurged when I bought it. Figured, I spend a third of my life here…”

“A third? Why would you ever _leave_ it.”

“Well,” Ryan said lightly. “To see you, for instance.”

Ray pushed himself up on his elbows again and raised an eyebrow at Ryan. “You’re seeing me. Now you don’t have to leave.”

Ryan chuckled softly. “And other things,” he added. “Like for food.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “I mean, I guess.” He sat up, then, and kicked back the covers. “Let’s check on your injury before Jon wakes up.”

“Yes, Nurse Ray,” Ryan said, giving Ray a little salute. Ray threw the pillow at him (aimed for his lap—how considerate!).

They crept down the loft’s stairs as to not wake Jon. Ryan brushed his fingers over every plant he passed—not a single succulent was out of place this time.  They snuck into the bathroom and eased the door shut.

Ryan leaned against the counter as Ray retrieved fresh gauze from a drawer. Ryan watched Ray work through the mirror, not seeing much more than his bare arms. There wasn’t much talking between them. Occasionally Ryan would hiss in pain, as Ray peeled the gauze off and cleaned around the wound and started wrapping new gauze, and Ray would whisper _sorry_.

“All done,” Ray said finally, running his hands over the fresh gauze. He rubbed Ryan’s back between his shoulder blades, and Ryan felt his muscles relax. “Jack would be proud of me.”

Ryan yawned. He turned around to rest against the counter and face Ray. Ray put the unused gauze away before bending to grab Ryan’s discarded shirt off the floor and bundle it into Ryan’s arms.

“Well,” said Ryan, beaming. “ _I’m_ proud. Thanks for patching me up.”

Ray glanced away, but Ryan caught his small smile.

Ryan put the shirt on arms first, grunting as he moved his injured shoulder even a little bit. It felt better than yesterday, but pain still jolted through it if he moved too suddenly. Ray stayed close, and helped pull the shirt over Ryan’s head and smooth it down. His hands were deliberate—light.

Ray gave the hem of Ryan’s shirt another tug. Hesitated, his hands hovering around Ryan’s hips. He took a deep breath, then stepped back and flashed Ryan a weak grin. A deep blush was creeping into his cheeks. “It’s no problem for Nurse Ray,” he said, but his joking tone sounded fake.

He wouldn’t meet Ryan’s eyes. Ryan frowned and reached out to gently nudge Ray’s chin, encouraging him to look up. He brushed his thumb over Ray’s short beard, tracing along his jaw. His heart pounded—he felt like he was taking a risk, or toeing a line—but Ray didn’t retreat from his touch.

“Hey,” Ryan said. “You seem worried all of a sudden.”

Ray shook his head, the movement forcing Ryan’s hand away. “You had me worried for a bit. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Ryan repeated before he could help himself.

“I, um…”

Ray grew quiet. It seemed easier for him to stare at Ryan’s shirt rather than meet his eyes. Heat washed over the back of Ryan’s neck. He took a step, closed the distance again between him and Ray. Waited—gave Ray the chance to back up again.

“I think I…” Ray muttered, then trailed off. He raised his hand, splayed it over Ryan’s heart.

“You mean so much to me,” Ryan said softly.

Ryan leaned down a bit, one hand reaching for Ray’s chin. Just a little bit of pressure, a suggestion through his fingertips, to tilt Ray’s face towards his again. They were close—inches away, closer than Ryan had ever dared be before. He could feel Ray’s breath on his skin. But he waited, his heartbeat making his whole body tremble.

“It’s funny,” Ray whispered. “You’re the first in a long while that I…”

With a jerky motion, Ray closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips against Ryan’s. Even though Ryan had hoped for this, he was caught off guard for a moment. Regardless, the kiss was awkward at first. Ray’s fingers curled into Ryan’s hair, and Ryan ran his hands down to Ray’s waist. Ryan sighed against Ray’s lips, tugged Ray closer against him. He’d wanted to do this for so long, and now it was happening. They were finding their rhythm.

But then, seconds later—it had to be only seconds later—Ray pulled back. He stepped away from Ryan’s touch, a hand over his mouth and his eyes far too bright, too wide.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said. He blinked hard and turned away. “I can’t—I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Ray—wait…”

Ray yanked the door open and was out in an instant before Ryan could reach for him. Ryan followed, but the moment he stepped into the living room area, his vision swam. He shook his head, fighting off dizziness as magic raised the hairs on his arms like static. A purple blur brushed past him, and Ryan’s vision cleared in time to see Ray pause at his front door, fully dressed. Ray met his eyes, then turned and ducked out.

“Who was that?” asked Jon. Ryan somehow managed to pry his gaze from his door to glance at the couch. Jon was sitting up, his hair a mess. “Was that—was that Ray?”

Ryan’s heart felt too heavy to carry in his chest. He sunk to the floor and sat on the carpet where he was. He could feel Jon’s stare on him.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “It was.”

“He didn’t look happy.”

Ryan put his face in his hands.

“I think I messed up.”


	16. In Which Ryan Does Some Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let anyone tell you that writing is easy. Dude it's like, so hard. Anyway, enjoy.

Jon returned to the couch with two mugs of coffee and handed one to Ryan before sitting down. They leaned against each other, their shoulders pressing together. Ryan had turned on the TV, put the volume on low as some game show host chatted up the audience. Neither of them drank the coffee at first—just held its warmth in both hands.

“Seems like we both could use a break,” Jon said.

“You could say that. Don’t you have work today?”

Jon sighed, letting his head fall against Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan was thankful Jon had decided to sit on his right side, so that only his good shoulder was jostled. “I already let them know I’m taking the day off sick.”

“What about all your pictures?”

“I sent them to Omar before I came here last night.”

“Oh. Smart.”

The game show went to a commercial break. A broom gazed lustily at a duster as an 80s ballad crooned behind it. Ryan wrinkled his nose.

“How did you hurt your shoulder, by the way?” Jon asked, pulling back so he could look Ryan in the face.

“Uhh… You, uh,” Ryan stuttered, already constructing a lie in his head. “You noticed?”

“I noticed—of _course_ I noticed! You’ve been ridiculously careful with it this whole time.”

“I sprained it. Went to the gym yesterday and, well, you know.”

“The gym,” Jon repeated. Then he grinned. “Guess the job hunt can’t be going that well if you’re going to the gym.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ryan groaned. “I didn’t tease you when _you_ started going to the gym.”

“True.” Jon laughed and set the coffee down on the table before leaning back into the couch. “I suppose I shouldn’t make fun.”

“Appreciate it,” Ryan said, making a face at Jon.

Silence settled between them for a few moments, a comfortable quiet as the game show host welcomed them back from their commercial break.

“I _am_ sorry about Ray,” Jon said. “I wish it could have gone better.”

“Me too,” Ryan said with a sigh. “And I’m sorry you had to go through last night.”

“Yeah. It’s not every day you get treated like a game.”

The back of Ryan’s neck prickled, but he kept his eyes glued to the television.

He was saved from responding by his intercom buzzing. Both he and Jon jumped at the sound. Ryan set his coffee next to Jon’s and went to the intercom by his door.

“Hello? Who’s there?” he asked.

“Did you forget?” Ryan winced. It was Geoff. “We made plans! The reservation is in fifteen minutes!”

“Oh! I did forget!” Ryan lied. He turned to Jon, already wearing a guilty smile. “I’m sorry, but I…”

Jon shook his head. “It’s fine. I understand. I’m ready to go home now anyway. Thanks for letting me stay the night.”

“Of course.”

He watched Jon put on his shoes, then pat his pockets to make sure he had everything. Ryan wondered, not for the first time, whether he should confess to Jon about his… mercenary status, for lack of a better term. His new life in crime. He had no idea how Jon would react. He had no idea how to even start a conversation like that. _Hey, by the way, I found a job, and it’s robbing convenience stores._

Jon paused at the door to look back at Ryan and give a little wave. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “Enjoy your—breakfast?”

Ryan nodded. “See you.”

* * *

 

“Where’s Ray?” Geoff asked when Ryan approached him as he was leaning against his car.

“Uhh—went for a walk, I think,” Ryan said, hoping his misery didn’t shine through his words. “Do we need him?”

“Nah… Just surprised, given how much you like each other.” Geoff chuckled when Ryan glanced away, heat rising in his cheeks. “Jack’s waiting with the x-ray machine. We can talk more in the car.”

Ryan obeyed. The creak of Geoff’s leather seats welcomed them, and Geoff immediately turned the radio on low as they started driving. Geoff didn’t let the silence sit for more than a few minutes, glancing at Ryan as soon as they were on a main road.

“What did you want to tell me yesterday?” he asked.

Ryan bit his lip. “Well… during what I remember of my fight with James, he told me something. He said Spoole is ‘semi-clairvoyant,’ and knew where we sent the angel, even if he didn’t know who it was.”

“The angel?” Geoff repeated. Ryan winced.

“Oh, uhh, that’s what I’ve been calling them in my head,” Ryan admitted. “I’ve done a bit of research—these powerful Augs get called all sorts of things, like angels, demons, djinn, fae…”

“I get it,” Geoff said, waving a hand to cut Ryan off. “Important stuff now.”

“Right. So, if James is telling the truth, which I think he is…”

“Why do you think he is?”

Ryan sighed. “He was boasting. He wouldn’t get any benefit from lying about it, anyway. But if Spoole is semi-clairvoyant and knows when we send our lying Aug on a mission, then that means that Aug was in the bank.”

Geoff fell silent, and Ryan let it sink in. He counted the seconds, and got to thirteen when Geoff swore.

“Fuck. That means—it could be any of the Faces.”

“Not Gavin,” Ryan reminded him. “Gavin was with you and Matt.”

“So that leaves Jack, Michael, Jeremy, and…” Geoff glanced at Ryan again. “Ray. Where did he go again?”

“No!” Ryan snapped before he could help himself. His cheeks warmed. “It’s not like that! He—he ran off because of me. I don’t really want to talk about it but trust me, it’s not because he’s being shady.”

Geoff stared hard at the road in front of him. His knuckles on the steering wheel were white.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “The fact that one of my closest buddies—my teammates—might be lying about something huge like this. That they might lie about anything.” He braked harder than was necessary at a red light, and Ryan jolted forward with the stop. Geoff glared at Ryan, though the intensity was not purposefully meant for him. “Do you have any fucking idea who it might be? So we can end this. We can expose them with your friend’s little party machine and sort this out once and for all. I’m tired of sneaking around my Crew, Ryan. I’m tired of wondering who might be a security issue to my team—my _family_.”

“I know,” Ryan said gently. “I’ll narrow it down soon, and then we can sneak into Jon’s event.”

“I hope so,” Geoff said, scowling. The light turned green. “For your sake and mine.”

* * *

 

“Ryan, you lucky bastard,” said Jack. He pointed at a spot on the two x-ray pictures tacked to the screen on the wall. Ryan watched him as he sat on the counter in the otherwise small room. There _was_ a doctor’s chair in the middle of the room, but Ryan preferred his perch. This was a simple room, meant for patching Crew members up, and most of its medical objects were tucked away in white cabinets. “See that white dot? That’s the bullet. It’s ri-i-i-i-ight on the fucking _edge_ of your bone, but the bone’s not fractured.”

Ryan shrugged one shoulder. He slid from his seat and stretched his good arm above his head with a soft sigh. “Seems good to me,” he said. “It’ll heal faster, then.”

Jack hummed thoughtfully, still peering at the x-rays. Ryan dug out his phone and opened his text history with Ray. He thumbed out a message—something simple, something like _Hey, where’d you go?_ —but he hesitated, then deleted the message. In an attempt to distract himself immediately, he opened up his email.

Oh, hello. He had an email from the library—he had forgotten about requesting books about magic. They had arrived at the library two days ago, and he’d have to get them soon. Well, he knew what his afternoon entailed. He took a step towards the door.

“Hey, Ryan,” Jack said suddenly. Ryan paused, and looked at Jack just as he turned from the x-rays. “Why are you here?”

“What?”

“I mean—why did you agree to join us? Why become a mercenary for us when you had been working a desk job for years before that? Forcing you to rely on skills you hadn’t even _attempted_ to hone until Funhaus jumped Ray at the carnival? What do you want? What are your goals?”

“I…” Ryan hesitated. “It’s… fun?”

Jack scoffed. “Fun? You’re doing this for fun? Aren’t you a little old to throw your life away on thrills?”

Ryan threw up his hands defensively. “No, I mean—well—so…” He took a deep breath lest his tongue trip further over itself. “Okay, it’s not just… the fun? Look, Jack—I was dying in that office. I spent nearly every day doing the same thing. I was stagnant and trapped in that office. When I got laid off, I didn’t know what to do! I thought I’d just go from one office job to another. And then Ray got in trouble, and I was able to help, and… I dunno, Jack. I’ve spent so long…”

“So go skydiving or something,” Jack said, crossing his arms. “Surely there are other things that can get you excited that doesn’t involve shooting or running from cops.”

Ryan pursed his lips. “And I’m sure there are other things that will let you patch people up,” he said. “And yet, you’re here too.” He bared his teeth as Jack tugged at his beard. Jack was only trying to protect his Crew—from someone like him, weaseling in and finding a place among them. Still didn’t have to be a dick about it. “And surprisingly, I think this life rather suits me.”

“I know the lads like having you here, too,” Jack grumbled. He waved his hand at Ryan, turning away to look at the x-rays again. “Whatever. Do what you will.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said dryly. He spun on his heel and pushed through the door. He knocked the door shut behind him and hurried down the short hall. This was another apartment hideout in the city—cheap but well placed, with a high tech security system to protect the medical equipment inside. The apartment _still_ managed to be nicer than Ryan’s.

Jeremy, Michael, and Gavin all lounged on the ugly paisley couch in the living room area. A generic, hotel room-worthy landscape painting hung on the off-white wall over them. Jeremy and Michael hunched forward, their eyes locked on the television as they played Halo on the Xbox. Gavin lounged next to them with a laptop, his legs stretching across both of their laps.

Ryan was headed for the door when Michael called out to him.

“Hey, yo, Ryan. Where you headed out to?”

“Uh, the library?”

Michael wrinkled his nose. “Oh you fucking _nerd._ Speaking of, have you heard from Ray at all? I tried texting him—even fucking called him once—but he hasn’t answered me all morning.”

“Yeah, where _is_ Ray,” said Geoff, coming up behind Ryan from down the hallway. He raised an eyebrow at Ryan, and Ryan knew he was getting suspicious. Did he think Ryan told Ray what James had said? “He’s been gone a while, now.”

“I—I don’t know,” Ryan said. His cheeks burned, and though he held Geoff’s gaze, he could feel the eyes on the lads on his back. “He left my apartment pretty early.”

“Well where the fuck did he go?” Michael asked. “When he goes off like this, he usually at least replies to my texts in an hour or two, or picks up the phone to tell me to fuck off.”

“He’s done this before,” Gavin added gently.

“Yeah— _once_ ,” Michael shot back. “Years ago!”

“It’s only been what, a morning?” Jeremy complained. “What’s the big deal!”

“The big deal is I texted him six hours ago!”

“Ryan…” Geoff said quietly. Ryan shook his head desperately. Ray didn’t leave because of that!

“I…” Ryan swallowed. “It’s my fault. I made him run off.” It’s not because he’s guilty, he added silently, giving Geoff his best pleading look.

The lads were quiet behind him—unusually so. It made the hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck stand up. He glanced over his shoulder. Jeremy and Gavin seemed interested, if not confused, but Michael had paled.

“Oh,” said Michael. “Right. He was at _your_ apartment.”

Ryan looked at his feet.

“What did you do?” Michael asked. Ryan didn’t like feeling accused.

“I—we kissed,” Ryan told his shoes. He felt like his face was hot enough to heat the entire room. “And then he ran off.”

“That bad?” teased Jeremy.

Michael stood. “I’m gonna call him,” he said. “I’ll probably have to leave a voicemail. Excuse me.”

Ryan watched Michael stride for the front door and duck out, searching for privacy. He glanced at Geoff, who shrugged and shook his head, then at Jeremy and Gavin. Jeremy was frowning after Michael, his controller held in a loose hand, but Gavin stared at his laptop with concern making his expression tense. Gavin knew something Ryan didn’t, or at least he suspected.

“Am I free to go now?” Ryan growled at Geoff, cheeks still burning.

Geoff nodded, and Ryan didn’t wait for anyone to say anything else before he was out the door and headed for the library.

* * *

 

The librarian handed him a small stack of books and teasingly scolded him for waiting so long. Ryan thanked her and took the books to a quiet corner of the warmly lit lobby, where several tables were arranged, each with a few cushioned chairs and a green lamp. The tables were vacant except for him—no kids in school to use it as a study location. He started from the top of his pile and started to skim.

The books were scientific journals, all studying Augs and their magic. Most of it was what he already knew, either just by common knowledge or by asking the Fakes, but confirmed through observation or experiments. But then there was a slim journal with case studies and interviews by a researcher and others who had studied underneath him. This journal he took his time reading, parsing the jargon and discussion about Augs who lived through different situations.

He was so intent on his research that he didn’t notice the person come up behind him until he felt hands on his shoulders and a chin on his head. He jumped, and for a whirlwind moment he hoped Ray had found him, but then it was Gavin who laughed.

“Researching Augs?” asked Gavin, lifting up his gold sunglasses to peer over Ryan’s shoulder.

“Maybe,” grumbled Ryan. He shrugged Gavin off, who took the chair next to him. Gavin left his sunglasses resting on top of his head and slid his phone over the table to Ryan. It was open to an article, a photograph taking up nearly the whole screen.

“Isn’t this a lovely picture?” cooed Gavin. “Your reporter friend was fast on the shutter, eh? It’s a good angle.”

It was. Jon had caught him looking back across the bank, at a low angle that made him seem tall and imposing. He had a firm stance, confident, mysterious with his mask… It was weird seeing himself like that. He had almost thought he could never achieve such a look. He was always so… _soft_ , for lack of a better term.

But surely that was not why Gavin was here, and it was far from the most important thing on Ryan’s plate.

“Have you found Ray yet?” Ryan asked in a low voice, pushing the phone back towards Gavin. Gavin took the phone back, slipping it into his pocket before propping his elbow on the table and resting his head on his hand.

“Nope,” he said. “Michael wants to check his old haunts, but I thought it’d be more interesting to see you.”

Ryan frowned. “You don’t seem worried.”

Gavin shrugged. “It hasn’t even been a day, and he’s disappeared for longer than this before. Usually he lets us know his general whereabouts and status, but until he doesn’t come back at night without another word, I’m not worried. I think Michael just wants to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan blurted. He stared at the page of his book, focusing hard on one word without reading it. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s not your fault,” Gavin said smoothly, immediately. “I can’t know what his reasons are this time, but he does this whenever he’s struggling to deal with something personally. He gets stressed out, and he leaves for a bit.”

“I see.”

“Those two used to be a thing, you know.”

Ryan jumped again, finally tearing his eyes away from the book to look at Gavin. He had a smug smirk plastered on his face as he met Ryan’s eyes. “Ray and Michael?”

“Mhmm.” Gavin started picking at his nails, but he glanced up every few seconds. “In our earlier days. Best friends, then shy lovers. It was all rather cute to watch, honestly, but they broke it off not long after. Now Michael’s got me and Lindsay,” Gavin added with a grin. “Not Meg, though. She’s just with me.”

“O-oh,” Ryan said. Those four _did_ like their cuddle piles… “I suppose that makes sense. So did you just come to gossip with me about relationships?”

“Nah,” said Gavin. “Just came to say hi. So what are you researching? Too shy to ask someone you know?”

Ryan shook his head. He hesitated, then decided the truth wouldn’t hurt. “It’s… something I don’t think they’d know. I’m trying to learn what would happen if an Aug didn’t use their magic for a long time.”

“Like if they’re trying to hide it?” Gavin asked. Ryan nodded. Gavin’s eyes glittered, and he quirked an eyebrow as he leaned on the table again. “Why, Ryan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to see if someone is lying about their magic.”

Ryan felt the blood drain from his cheeks, and Gavin grinned at his expression. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve had my suspicions,” Gavin said. “You’ve been very curious about Augs since you’ve been here, but Ray says you never seemed to care this much before. You’re a friendly sort, I’ll give you that, so I don’t think anyone else finds your questions weird. Plus I can read Geoff like a book. He’s putting his faith in you.”

“You don’t seem to mind that much,” Ryan said slowly. “Aren’t you worried about threats to the Fakes?”

Gavin snorted and shook his head. “No one hides things from me for very long,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re no exception.”

“Okay, Gavin,” Ryan said lightly. “You’re right. I’m trying to see if someone is lying about their magic, if someone is much stronger than they say they are—because Geoff asked me to. He considers it a security issue, and has me investigating because I’m an outsider. And now, you can help me.”

“Sounds _way_ more interesting that what I’ve been doing today,” Gavin said. “I’m assuming you’ve found me innocent, then.”

“Yeah, you’re clear. Funhaus and Geoff are looking for the same person,” Ryan said. “This research is also telling me that an Aug can’t hide for long—not without repercussions. If they don’t use magic for a while, it’ll ‘leak out’ in unpredictable ways.”

“But what I don’t get,” Gavin said suddenly, frowning, “is why one of us would lie about this. Why don’t they just own up to it? So what, they’re stronger than we previously thought. Wouldn’t that be _useful?_ ”

“That’s what we’re baffled about,” Ryan admitted. “But if they’re lying about that, then Geoff fears…”

“Geoff _always_ fears,” Gavin said. He paused, staring out across the library. “But I get why this time. The Crew isn’t supposed to have secrets. Not about anything big. Like—I knew about you and Ray before you joined, but I made sure it wasn’t a dangerous situation. We should be trusting each other.”

“You would have told Geoff otherwise?” Ryan asked. “If you thought Ray and I were planning something?”

“Of course,” Gavin said easily. “The Crew is family. I won’t let anyone destabilize that.”

“Even if it _was_ Ray?” Ryan pressed. “Or Jeremy? Or—Michael? You would tell Geoff?”

Gavin’s hand moved to his chest to pull the chain necklace out of his collared shirt so that he could grip the golden medallions—no, not medallions. Dog tags. He met Ryan’s eyes, his face serious for once. “I swear on my life. I haven’t noticed anything unusual as of late, but I will keep an eye out.”

“Good,” Ryan said. “Because I’ve narrowed it down to four people.”

Gavin’s mouth hung open for a moment as he processed the information. Ryan could see the gears turning in his head.

“The ones at the bank.”

“Yep.”

“I see why _Geoff_ was initially upset about Ray’s disappearance,” Gavin added.

Ryan nodded. He expected Gavin to keep talking, but the lad fell silent as he fiddled with his necklace and gazed across the lobby. After a few moments, Ryan returned to his research, listening to the soft clink of metal as the dog tags rubbed together.

Then Gavin turned suddenly in his seat and leaned close to Ryan, apparently trying to read what Ryan was reading. His sunglasses fell from his forehead back onto his nose, and he held them up again. “So what else do your books say?”

Ryan blinked. He grabbed one of the newer journals from his pile that he had already paged through and tossed it in front of Gavin. “That one has a study that suggests something interesting. It claims that magic is not an innate thing—like, something that comes from within the person—but rather something channeled.”

“Channeled?”

“From a source somewhere else.” Ryan shrugged. “It’s a rather new concept. There’s not a lot of studies about it yet, according to its summary. That’s the only interesting thing I’ve seen so far, though.”

Gavin opened the journal and leafed lazily through the pages, his eyes skimming each page. He sat there for maybe five minutes as Ryan read his own research, but then he slapped the journal shut and threw it away from him, the noise making Ryan jump a third time as it landed back on the table.

“ _Bor-_ ing,” he complained. “How can you read that bloody shit?”

“Well, once you get used to the vocabulary…”

“ _Yawn_ ,” Gavin cut him off. He reached over and shut Ryan’s journal for him. “Haven’t you already found what you needed?”

Ryan shrugged, brushing Gavin’s hand away. “I have a few more case studies to read, but I guess…”

Gavin leapt up from his chair and tugged on Ryan’s arm. “Come on, let’s go then. _You’re_ supposed to be the interesting one. Don’t be cooped up in here all afternoon.”

Ryan jerked his arm out of Gavin’s grip, but he stood up with a sigh. He checked his phone—it had buzzed an hour or two ago, but he had ignored it, and forgotten about it until now. He had a text message from Jon.

>Sorry again. You holding up ok?

Ryan’s heart twisted. He should be asking Jon the same question, but… Well, he’d been distracted. Happily distracted. Secretly, he was glad they hadn’t found Ray yet. He didn’t know what he would say, or what Ray would say. Would Ray avoid him? Apologize? Act like it never happened? He didn’t know what would be worse.

He locked his phone without replying to Jon and put it back in his pocket. He grabbed for his books and started stacking them all together, using more force than was probably necessary. There was something therapeutic about how the books smacked together. Almost rebellious—loud in a library, even though he and Gavin were the only patrons in the lobby at the moment. Gavin tilted his head as he watched.

“You’re right,” Ryan said sharply, thudding the last book on top of the pile. “Let’s go do something else.”

Gavin waited until Ryan had returned the journals to the librarian before he grabbed Ryan’s arm again and started pulling him towards the exit.

“Come on, Ryan,” he said, his tone serious and business-like. “There’s an ice cream place down the street from here that has the _best_ floats.”


	17. In Which Ryan Misses

It was nearly midnight when Ryan got a call from a blocked number, jerking him from the doze he had slipped into as he lay in bed. Gavin’s voice greeted him.

“He’s back,” Gavin said quietly. “He ‘snuck in’—let us see him as he came in, then disappeared into his room. I suspect he’ll be gone in the morning.”

Ryan dreamed that he woke up in his bed. Dreamed that Ray put his hand over Ryan’s mouth and nose, pressed down, suffocating him, all while saying _I’m sorry_ in that same voice he used when he left. He woke up from his dream gasping, looking desperately around his apartment for Ray. Some of the plants on his desk had tipped over. Ray was nowhere to be seen, of course, and had never been there in the first place.

Gavin was right. When Ryan arrived the next morning at the medical apartment, Ray had slipped out again before anyone else had woken up. And that was how it happened for the next several days, as Ryan visited the apartment—often to start quietly planning with Geoff for the mission with Jon. Nothing would be finalized until Ryan chose a suspect, but they could at least start.

“Wow, Ryan,” said Jeremy, when Ryan entered the room one day and scanned its gathered occupants—all who waited for Geoff’s debriefing on a drug deal mission. “You must be a really awful kisser!”

Michael winced, though the others chuckled as Jeremy laughed loudly at his own joke. Ryan glared, felt his face settle into a cold expression. Jeremy’s laughter died down quickly, and he shrugged it off with an awkward smile as he gave his attention back to Geoff.

“Uh, right,” said Geoff. He stood in front of the TV, Jack by his side and the rest lounging over the couch. Ryan stood apart from the couch, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “A new shipment of molly is coming in tomorrow and we’ve received word that there’s a good chance Funhaus has learned about it. We’ve moved the meeting point, but there are only so many places a boat can dock, and it’s too late to change the meeting time. So we need to have a little more security than usual as we escort it from the docks to our dealers. Shadow team is already working on the route. Ryan, how’s your sniping?”

Ryan shrugged, and Michael piped up, “Pretty good from what I’ve seen, Geoff. I don’t think he’s ever done it in the field, but he’s a natural sharpshooter.”

“Great,” said Geoff. “Since Ray’s on a little break, and your shoulder is still kind of healing, you’ll be taking some rooftop positions. Can you drive a motorcycle?”

They looked at him. A man of many tricks, he was, but…

“I have never driven one,” he admitted.

“Alright, then Gavin will be with you,” Geoff said smoothly. “Watch each other’s backs. The rest of us are the ground team.”

* * *

 

So that was how Ryan found himself lying on the roof of some poor saps’ apartment building at dawn the next day, peering through a scope down a rifle at the docks. Gavin rested his head on Ryan’s back as he held a large smartphone above him, aimlessly tapping on the screen. Weak, gray light was slowly giving way to pale pink at the horizon.

“Ryan,” said Gavin. “Do you have a blender, Ryan?”

“Yes, I have a blender.”

Ryan shifted and felt Gavin adjust his head to a new comfortable position against his back. He wondered if Gavin did this to the other Fakes. The other four were still waiting on the suppliers to show up, leaning against their van and keeping a lookout for anyone who shouldn’t be there. Since it was dawn, though, the dock workers weren’t there yet, and the beach in this location was too narrow for early morning joggers.

“Do you use it?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know… A couple times a month?”

Ryan still hadn’t seen Ray since he ran off. He tried not to think about it during the mission, but his mind kept drifting back. He was glad for Gavin’s questions—it was easier to focus on conversation than looking at an unchanging image.

“Do you have… a meat pounder?”

“I’ll pound your fucking face if you don’t shut up,” Michael hissed over the earpiece. Ryan snorted as Gavin giggled.

“Well, _do_ you have one?” Jack asked.

Ryan laughed, trying not to jostle Gavin as he did. “I don’t. I don’t have a way to tenderize meat.”

“Shame,” Jack said. “You should.”

“If I needed it, I would have bought it already.”

“How’s it looking up there?” Geoff asked, his tone light and amused.

“Clear for now,” Ryan reported. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Police haven’t been alerted either,” Gavin said. “They don’t know we’re here yet.”

“Great,” said Geoff. “Because here comes our shipment.”

Ryan watched them through the scope as a motorboat pulled up. A guy hopped onto the dock and wrapped a rope around one of the little poles before turning and catching parcels his partner tossed up. These parcels passed from their hands into Geoff’s and Jack’s hands, who inspected them quickly and handing to Michael to put in the van. Jeremy watched it all, a large gun in his hands.

“So the fun part,” Gavin said, “is that half of the molly goes straight to our dealers. Then the other half first goes to a couple Augs, and we give them an extra effect or two. Increase the price accordingly, and you get a sweet profit at the night club.”

“Interesting,” Ryan said. He paused. “Um—what _is_ molly?”

Gavin sputtered, and he saw every single other Fake in his sights falter and struggle to hold in laughter. His face warmed. Gavin didn’t not bother hiding his laughter, and he squirmed against Ryan’s back.

“You’re so innocent!” he squealed. “You’re holding a rifle in your hands and you don’t know what molly is! Ryan, you’re _precious!_ ”

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled.

“It’s ecstasy,” Jeremy said over the earpiece. His voice was tight with restraint. “You—you know what ecstasy is, at least, yeah?”

“Yes, I know what ecstasy is,” Ryan droned.

“We should give you a crash course,” Gavin said, giggles making his words bounce. “Teach the Vagabond all about drugs and slang!”

“Sure, whatever.” Ryan was glad for his mask. He didn’t need to duck down to hide his blush. Though he was pretty sure Gavin knew he was embarrassed anyway… He went silent, focusing on looking down his scope. His ears pricked with every sound—the murmurs of the business dealing over the earpiece, Gavin’s sighs as his fingers tapped against his touchscreen. He supposed he should feel bad for helping the drug trade, but he found he didn’t really care. _He_ wasn’t forcing anyone to buy. Sure, it might introduce more violence to the city, but that’s what he was _here_ for, right?

“Uh oh,” said Gavin. The weight on Ryan’s back suddenly lifted as Gavin sat up. “Helicopter.”

Ryan noticed the soft thrumming of helicopter blades in the distance immediately after Gavin mentioned it. He pushed up on his elbows to look to where Gavin was pointing behind him. An ant-sized helicopter was tilting towards the docks, lazily weaving around the skyscrapers. It would take a couple minutes for it to reach them.

“Is it neutral or…?” asked Geoff over the earpiece.

“Can’t tell yet,” Gavin said. “Could just be a traffic copter.”

“Why didn’t either of you bring binoculars?” Jeremy asked.

“We have a _scope_ , Jeremy,” Gavin snapped. “We don’t need _binoculars_ if we have a shitting _scope._ ”

Ryan sighed and sat up as well, lifting the sniper rifle up to his eyes. His shoulder protested the weight, and the long muzzle wobbled as he pointed it at the helicopter. He peered down the scope. The helicopter was still too far away to see anyone inside it, and he struggled to keep it in sight as his magnified vision bobbed, but he could tell it was black and white.

“Keep an eye on it, you two,” said Geoff. “We’re almost done inspecting everything.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Ryan said. “This would be easier if I had binoculars.”

“See, Gavin?” Jeremy said. “See?”

“ _Shut_ _it,_ ” Gavin whined.

The copter hovered, turned sideways. Then it tipped forward again and started flying away from the docks again.

“It’s retreating,” Ryan said. “Still not sure if it’s neutral or not.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Gavin said, his eyes glued to his touchscreen device. “Police still haven’t been notified.”

“We’re done here,” Geoff reported. “When we all get in the car, move to your new position.”

“Roger,” said Gavin. He got to his feet, glancing up only to squint at where the helicopter used to be. Ryan watched the docks as the little ant-sized people parted ways, and four of them got into the van. When that happened, he stood up as well. His rifle had a strap, and he slung it over his shoulder, tightening the strap across his chest. He touched the holster at his waist, just to make sure the pistol there was still secure, then patted at the knives hidden under his jacket.

Following Gavin, he hopped over the edge of the building to the fire escape, and the two of them descended quickly to where Gavin’s purple motorcycle waited in the alley. Ryan got on behind Gavin and looped his arms around Gavin’s middle as the engine revved.

“Ready to go, _Vagabond?_ ” Gavin asked. Ryan could _hear_ his shit-eating grin as he said Ryan’s little codename. A codename he didn’t remember choosing for himself, but the Fakes thought it so funny that it stuck.

“Just drive,” Ryan grumbled. “We should get there before they do.”

Gavin gunned the engine. The bike lurched underneath them. Ryan had yet to find the thrill of motorcycles. He had driven with Michael before, but Michael had felt… _more stable_ than skinny Gavin. Gavin who liked to bob and weave in traffic, testing how close he can get to cars. Ryan focused on not panicking, and hoped he wouldn’t die before they got to the next lookout point.

Finally— _finally_ , the motorcycle slowed and wheeled into another alley, short but wide enough to comfortably house two dumpsters side by side near the ladder lining the four story building. Ryan wasn’t sure what the building’s purpose was, but it was near the drainage canal. From the roof through the scope, he had a decent angle on the other Fakes, though his main job was watching _around_ them, and that view was a good one.

Ryan half-listened to the murmuring of the deal, as Geoff spoke with the handful of dealers under one of the bridges. He thought they could have chosen a slightly less stereotypical spot for this—but then again, it wasn’t like many people meandered here on a whim.

The deal went smoothly. Soon enough Jack was ordering them to move on to the next location. Ryan watched them get in the van again through the rifle’s scope and drive up out of the canal before packing up again. Back to the motorcycle. His mouth twisted into a scowl. Maybe one day he’ll find joy in motorcycles, like Michael and Gavin seemed to have. He got back on the ladder and started climbing down. Gavin hovered at the top, tracking police vehicles on his device.

Ryan made it halfway before a few men appeared at either end of the short alley. He froze on the ladder, staring one dead in the eyes. He heard Gavin gasp above him.

“ _For Funhaus!_ ” the man Ryan stared at hollered.

Guns roared, bullets pattered and pinged around Ryan. Gavin squawked, ducked down to hide. Ryan flinched, and his hands seemed to stop responding to his thoughts. He let go of the ladder. His stomach flipped as he dropped. He hit the ground feet first, but at an impossibly awkward angle. His heels took the brunt of his fall before his back smashed into the ground. He gasped and forced himself to roll through the pain to huddle between the dumpsters as a hailstorm of bullets chipped at bricks and concrete alike.

“ _Gavin_ ,” Geoff screeched in Ryan’s ear. “ _Report!_ ”

“He fell off the ladder!” Gavin squeaked. “We’ve been jumped!”

“ _What!_ ”

Ryan groaned. His head pounded, his back felt bruised, and his vision edged red. He wasn’t going to forget. He wasn’t going to lapse. His hand went for the pistol at his waist and glanced up at the roof. Gavin peeked over, aiming his own heavy pistol. He got a few shots off, but then the hail of bullets angled up towards him, and he was forced to retreat.

“Oh shit,” said Jack. “We got company of our own.”

Ryan gritted his teeth. His pistol had eight shots per clip, and these mercenaries would likely take advantage of his reload time. But right now, Gavin was taking fire, and Ryan had cover from both sides by the dumpsters…

Ryan popped up, snapping his arms over the left dumpster and firing into the tight crowd of mercenaries at one end of the alley. The first guy took three bullets in the torso before collapsing. The second one aimed for him, but his arm took a hit and he staggered before he took another hit to the forehead. The dumpsters pinged and Ryan ducked back down, breathing hard.

Five bullets. He had his knives, of course, but in a firefight…

He shook his head. Tried to remember how many men there had been. Two down, and one more on that side. On the other… another three?

The rapid gunshots lessened, and Ryan heard the pounding footsteps of a guy from the right. He appeared at the opening to Ryan’s hiding spot, machine gun in hand. Ryan was ready, though—before he could even aim the gun at Ryan’s head, Ryan fired his pistol. Once, twice, and the man fell. He kicked at the body, flinching as the concrete burst next to his heel.

“Vagabond!” Gavin cried.

“I’m okay, for now,” Ryan gasped. His hands were shaking now. He swallowed hard. His heart was racing, and his stomach flipped so much he thought he was going to be sick. “Can’t you fire at them now!?”

He had one bullet left.

Gavin’s head poked over the roof again, and he fired a couple shaky shots at one of the guys below him. The bricks below him chipped, the patters of bullets racing up the side of the building. This was Ryan’s chance.

Ryan leapt to his feet, launched up and fired his last bullet at the final guy on the left. The mercenary cried out and dropped his gun to clutch his arm, but wasn’t downed yet. Ryan spun on his heel, knife already in hand, and hurled it at the guy shooting at Gavin. The guy made a sound Ryan could only describe as _hgrk_ , the knife handle sticking out of his throat. _Damn_ , Ryan was good sometimes.

Ryan had been wrong about the numbers, it seemed. There had been only two on the right. He turned back to the downed guy, adrenaline making his whole body tremble. The mercenary glared at him as Ryan stalked towards him. Ryan’s grin matched that of his mask’s. The mercenary grabbed for his fallen machine gun with his good arm, raised it. Ryan’s step didn’t falter, merely pulled another knife from his jacket. The gun’s heavy muzzle bobbed, and Ryan suspected that, to make matters worse, that was the mercenary’s non-dominant hand.

The gun fired. Bullets sprayed everywhere, the gun jerking up and around. Ryan laughed. He lifted the knife and whipped it into the mercenary’s face. It buried into the man’s skull, and he slumped, the gun falling.

“Are they all dead?” Gavin called from above. “Are you okay?”

Ryan chuckled. “It’s all good,” Ryan called back. Gavin peered over the edge, watching him chuckle with a tilted head.

“Don’t be bloody creepy,” he complained. “It’s creepy when you laugh like that.”

Geoff’s voice rang over the earpieces. “Are you guys okay?” he asked frantically.

Gavin touched his ear. “I think we’re good. Ryan’s a skilled, but very _lucky_ bastard.”

“We’re good on our end, too,” Geoff said. “Get the fuck out of there. Hole up somewhere and make sure you’re not followed. We’ll meet up somewhere soon.”

“Right,” Gavin said. To Ryan, he added, “I’m coming down now.”

Gavin swung his leg over the edge, and Ryan watched him find the ladder with his feet and slowly start his descent. He made it a few rungs when Ryan caught movement at the corner of his eye.

There _had_ been a third guy on the right.

“ _Gavin!_ ” Ryan yelled, lurching for the ladder as though he could run up and shield him. The last mercenary rounded the corner of the building. Gavin shrieked and pulled himself tight against the ladder as a gunshot rang out. “ _No!_ ”

Ryan blinked. Gavin stared down at him, equally confused, before they both looked at the mercenary. The mercenary was lying face down now, thick sticky blood pooling under his head. Gavin pointed out of the alley, towards the nearby bridge crossing the drainage canal. Ryan spotted a dim speck of a person stand up on the roof of a building across the bridge. A speck that might have been a little purple—a speck that might have been a sniper.

Ryan shared a glance with Gavin, who grinned.

“That’s our boy,” Gavin said happily.

When Ryan looked back, the speck was gone.

* * *

 

“Oh my god,” said Jon. “I just realized—you don’t have a suit, _do_ you!”

Ryan raised an eyebrow and took a moment to finish chewing his food. Jon had invited him over for a bit of the evening, so they could make dinner and start watching a TV show Jon had had his eye on for a while. These kinds of nights used to happen more frequently, when they lived in the same complex and had the same job—and now they were on the uptick again, as Ryan had all the free time in the world (apparently). They were both curled up on opposite ends of Jon’s couch, holding their plate of tacos and rice.

Ryan swallowed his bite of taco and set his plate down on the coffee table, carefully nudging one of the numerous black candles to make space. Jon still hadn’t found a lot of good places for those candles…

“I mean, if I need one, I usually just rent one,” Ryan said, reaching for his Diet Coke. “If I need a suit for the event, then…”

“Of course you need a suit,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a _black tie_ event. That means ladies in evening dresses and men in fine suits. I know you’re lacking disposable income, though, so I could totally spot you on the suit.”

“No, no,” Ryan said, waving his hand and wincing. “Jon, you don’t need to. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“I’m _offering_ ,” Jon insisted. “It’s a couple hundred bucks. That doesn’t affect me as much as it would you.”

Ryan took a swig of Diet Coke to avoid answering right away. Geoff had wired him his share of the money from the drug deal a few days ago, and it was more than enough to rent a suit. Hell, he could probably even _buy_ a tuxedo if he wanted to. Letting Jon pay for any part of his suit made him queasy with guilt.

“It’s fine, Jon,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, then sighed. “If you insist.” He paused, watching the television for a few moments. When the next episode’s recap and opening sequence started playing, he asked, “Have you heard from Ray yet, at all?”

Ryan’s fingers tightened on his can of soda. The night after the deal, he had spent the night with the Crew but had stayed up late in his borrowed bed with insomnia. He had heard Ray come in, heard Geoff confront him like a parent waiting for his delinquent teen.

 _Is this going to be a problem?_ Geoff had asked.

 _Is this going to be a fucking problem, Ray?_ he had asked again, when Ray didn’t answer immediately.

Ray had mumbled something.

_What was that?_

_No_ , Ray had said. _It’s not going to be a problem._

_I want to give you the time you need to pull yourself together. But we need you here, as a part of our team._

_I’ll be okay, Geoff. I just need space for a little while longer._

Geoff had sighed. _You can have it. But we need you for a big mission coming up soon. Okay?_

 _Okay,_ Ray had agreed. _I’ll be ready when you need me._

When Ryan had woken up the next morning after a fitful night of half-sleep, Ray had taken his space again.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jon noted. Ryan jumped, jerking out of his memory. He glanced at the TV—he hadn’t even realized the show had been paused. Jon’s mouth twitched, and Ryan could tell he was holding back a laugh. “I’m sorry I asked.”

The apology, at least, was genuine.

Ryan took another sip of soda. Thinking about it again just made it feel like his heart was twisting again. Twisting and shriveling cold. He had hoped that since Ray had backed him and Gavin up a few days ago, Ray would greet him again. But instead Ray was still ghosting around, hiding from Ryan and Crew alike. He knew he should probably try to move on at this point, try to push past his feelings for him, but he just… missed him. The fact of the matter was that he missed Ray dearly. And until he could have a real conversation with Ray again, feelings would just keep punching him in the gut.

He shrugged.

“If you ever want to talk about it,” Jon said softly. “I _am_ here.”

“I know.” Ryan flashed him a smile. “I think I need to be able to talk to _Ray_ first. But thank you.”

Jon nodded. He reached for the remote and started the TV show again, the sound filling the apartment once more. Ryan watched without really absorbing it, getting lost in the ambient noise and aimless movement. He zoned out like that until his phone buzzed with a text. He pulled it out, hoping to see Ray, _dying_ to see Ray’s name, but it was from a number he didn’t recognize. The text, however, _was_ signed by initials he recognized.

>I have an idea. –GF


	18. In Which Preparations are Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this moving, shall we?

The moment Ryan stepped through the apartment door, Gavin looped his arm around his neck and guided him through. Along the way, he grabbed Geoff as well, and the three of them went to Geoff’s little bedroom—a carefully bug-proofed room with a twin-sized bed and a small metal table. No one else seemed to be in the apartment. According to Geoff, the other Crew members had gone out to fetch supplies like food and gasoline. One of their cars needed an oil change, and they were out of milk.

Gavin sat them down at Geoff’s table and leaned on it, looking each of them in the eye.

“Your guys’ plan sucks,” said Gavin.

“ _What_ ,” Geoff exclaimed. “I know Ryan told you about our little mystery, and I agreed with his choice—but you already think our plan fucking _sucks_?”

“You’re going about it all _wrong_ ,” Gavin said. “You two are so focused on finding out who’s most _likely_ to be this angel person that you’re not thinking about _how_ to find them out.”

Ryan shivered. The room was freezing, and he had left his jacket in the front hall like a fucking _moron_.

“What do you mean, Gavvers?” Geoff asked. “That seems like that same thing to me.”

“Well.” Gavin paused, as though taking the time to organize his words. “You’ve got this machine you’re going after, yeah? And you’ve got four suspects and you’re trying to decide which one to get to use the machine. You’re trying to figure out who is most likely to _be_ this ‘angel,’ when you should be starting with the person you can most easily _trick_ into using the damn thing in the first place!”

Ryan frowned, but Geoff scratched at his beard. “That’s… a good point, actually, Gav. As far as we know, it’s equally likely that Michael, Jeremy, Jack, _or_ Ray could be the angel and hiding it from us. But I know we’d _never_ be able to get Jack to use the machine without him catching on to our ulterior motives. He’s too sharp for that.”

“Right!” Gavin agreed, nodding his head. “But this way, we can at least eliminate one suspect! Even if it’s the wrong one, we can see exactly what sort of power he has.”

“So then…” Ryan said slowly. “Who _do_ we trick?”

“Who can you convince to use the machine?” Gavin said with a shrug. “Ray?”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. “No, I—not at the state things are in, no.”

Gavin nodded again, his gaze flicking down to the table. So that left two people to choose from… Someone who wouldn’t notice Ryan egging them on.

Everyone looked up at the same time, sharing bright eye contact.

“Michael,” they agreed.

* * *

 

“So?” asked Ryan, descending his stairs to where Jon waited on his couch. “What do you think?”

Jon whistled. Ryan had bought his tux the other day, and he had to admit, it did make him feel particularly suave. The black cut was slimming and fitted him well.

“Looks _fantastic_ ,” Jon said. “Good choice.”

Ryan grinned and plucked at his sleeves. Then he let his smile fall as he sat down next to Jon on the couch. Jon looked away, as though he knew what Ryan was going to ask.

“So what _is_ the plan, Jon?” Ryan asked. “The event is in a few days. What’s the _plan_? You’re not intending on walking in there and just _winging_ the entire thing…?”

“Maybe I am,” Jon told Ryan’s coffee table.

Ryan sighed. He was almost done planning the whole thing with Geoff and Gavin, but the last wildcard was _Jon’s_ plan.

“I don’t know what I’m doing!” Jon snapped in response to Ryan’s sigh. “I know what needs to happen, I just…”

“So start there.” Ryan leaned forward. “You need to search. So then we need to get to the CEO’s office—without anyone following us or discovering us.”

Jon rubbed his mouth and glanced around the café. “I know the party is supposed to be entirely in the conference hall. I know there’s security, because we have to go through a bag check and a metal detector.”

“But will the security be on the upper floors?” Ryan asked. “At their offices?”

“I mean… probably not,” Jon said. “They’ll probably surround the party, though.”

“So we sneak past them, climb the stairs, and get into the office, and no one should bother us for a while,” Ryan said.

“For a… while…” Jon whispered. Then his eyes snapped up to meet Ryan’s. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he admitted. “I can’t believe you agreed to help me do this.”

“It’s not happening yet,” Ryan reminded him. “I’ll help you plan. But we’ve got a lot of shit to do before the party. Are you prepared for that?”

Jon considered it for a few moments before slowly nodding.

“I am,” he said. “There’s something fishy here, and I—and _we_ are going to find it.”

“Okay,” said Ryan. “So let’s start figuring out how we’re going to get into that office.”

* * *

 

>Meet at Meg’s. Door will be open for you – GF

That’s what the text had said. But Ryan hesitated at the front door, his hand hovering over the handle. The living room window was cracked open. He could hear voices inside—or at least, he could hear Michael shouting clearly, and could hear the heated, indistinct murmurs of Ray.

“I don’t fucking care how scared you are!” Michael cried. “He is your _friend!_ You owe him more than this!”

Ray argued.

“Fucking shut up!” Michael screamed. “You’re being a fucking _baby!_ ”

“Michael!” Geoff’s voice rang out, loud and sharp. All three voices lowered in volume, until Ryan could no longer understand a word out of any of them. The door spun in front of Ryan’s eyes, warped and tilted. Ray was on the other side of the door. There was no way they _weren’t_ arguing about Ray’s actions and Ryan. He thought the world would plummet from under his feet. He thought his heart had stopped beating.

A hand touched Ryan’s arm, and he jumped. Meg smiled up at him.

“It’s unlocked, you know,” she said.

“I know, I was—I was just…” he trailed off, looking helplessly at the window. He could still hear Geoff talking.

“Ray’s on the mission, too,” Meg said. “They all are.” She patted his shoulder. Had she heard what Ryan had? “Come on, let’s make our entrance.”

Ryan hesitated, then pulled out his mask from under his jacket and slipped it over his head. The cool plastic resting against his skin, the suffocating plastic skirting over his lips, served as an emotional barrier. With his face hidden, his feelings felt like they were in an entirely separate body.

She reached in front of him and twisted the doorknob with far more force than necessary, making the door bang as it opened. The voices in the living room grew silent as she marched in, Ryan close behind.

“Hey, boys!” she greeted, waving at the three men in the living room. “We’ve arrived! Are the others here yet?”

“Hey Meg,” said Geoff. “They’re just in the basement…”

Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off Ray. He didn’t listen to Meg’s and Geoff’s exchange. He hadn’t seen Ray up close since that morning. Ray’s beard was a bit scruffy, his purple hoodie a bit rumpled. Ray stared back at him, his face pale, and an itch crawled over Ryan’s skin. Ray was… going to make an escape. Again. He was going to escape  _again_ , use his magic to force Ryan's attention away.  _Again_.

Michael threw his arm around Ray’s shoulder, holding him against his side. The feel of magic over Ryan’s skin faded, and Ray stared at his feet now. Ray couldn’t use his magic to disappear if Michael was holding on to him. Michael caught Ryan’s gaze and rolled his eyes, grimacing.

Geoff snapped his fingers, and Ryan jumped again. “Hey, buddy, Vagabond,” Geoff said. “Are you listening?”

“Yes!” Ryan said automatically. He winced. “No.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” Geoff asked in a low voice. He took a step forward, his brow furrowed. His blue eyes were as sharp as swords, and Ryan couldn’t meet them. Geoff turned to Ray.

“ _Is this going to be a problem?_ ” Geoff asked again.

“No, sir,” Ryan and Ray said simultaneously.

“Good,” said Geoff. “You two have very different roles in the mission. So if you can’t work out your fucking problem, you’ll barely see each other. Meg, can you go get the others from the basement? It’s time for the debriefing.”

“Sure thing!” Meg said, snapping a salute before heading for the basement door. The silence she left behind seemed to press Ryan’s mask against his face, the plastic sticking uncomfortably. He could feel his own hot breath.

Ray tried to take a step away from Michael and jerked back when Michael tightened his grip, holding him in place.

“Don’t you want to say something to your _friend_?” Michael urged. The words were hard, firm, but not unkind.

“Michael…” Geoff warned. Ray pursed his lips and continued to stare at his shoes, his hands jammed into his hoodie pocket.

Ryan’s heart felt like it was breaking apart, like a hollow eggshell cracking and crumbling. He couldn’t talk to Ray right now, and Ray couldn’t talk to him. Not like this. Michael forcing it and Geoff watching… A relationship couldn’t be repaired like this.

And then—

“I’m sorry,” said Ray. He didn’t look up, and his voice was soft, but his words were steady. “I shouldn’t have ditched you like that. I’ve been childish.”

Ryan breathed in deeply, counted to seven, and exhaled. “I’m sorry to have put you in that situation,” he said carefully.

It wasn’t enough. Both of them knew that—Ray’s eyes were glued to the floor, and Ryan himself couldn’t look at him anymore. Ryan would have to sit down with Ray alone and properly talk this out. He _hoped_ they could talk privately before Jon’s mission, but when the rest of the Crew emerged from the basement, and when Geoff clapped to draw attention to himself, Ryan got the feeling he might not be lucky in that regard.

“We’ve got a fuck ton of work to do,” Geoff announced. “So gather ‘round. Ryan and I have the plan. We’ll need supplies, scouting, preparations.”

Geoff stood in front of the TV and let the Crew settle down on and around the couch. Michael steered Ray to the couch, and Ryan went to stand near Geoff. When everyone had found a position, Geoff cleared his throat.

“As you were told earlier,” he said, “Ryan has inside access to this bigwig black tie event, through his connection to the media. Now, his connection has no idea that he is the Vagabond, so we have to tread carefully. We will have many separate pieces moving cohesively across the map. Gavin, you have Steffie’s tech?”

“Yup!” Gavin bounced off the couch and over to Ryan. He held out his hand, showing off a tiny nude-colored plastic earpiece about the size of a skittle. Ryan plucked it off Gavin’s palm and held it up to peer at it, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Steffie made this for you! It’s too small to have both input _and_ output. So you’ll be able to hear us, but we won’t be able to hear you. _However_ , it’s small enough that no one will notice it in your ear. Unless they’re like… pressing their eyeball against it.”

Ryan handed it back to Gavin, who took it and set it on the coffee table before sitting back on the couch. He’ll get it back when it’s actually time to start.

“The fancy-schmancy machine we’re gonna steal is going to be somewhere else in the building,” Geoff continued. “Part of our preparations will be finding where it’s stored. But _when_ we’re going to steal it hinges on Ryan. He’s our inside man, and the party will have some pretty heavy security surrounding it, so Ryan will have to find a way to let us inside.

“Ryan has his own mission with Jon, so for the first half he won’t be an active player. He’ll let Michael inside, then Michael will cover the rest of the set up so the others can get in. Then, as the others start some chaos, he and Ryan will team up and get to the machine and secure it.”

“Wait,” Michael said. “How big is this machine?”

“Pretty sizeable, according to Ryan’s source,” Geoff said. “We’ll get you the tools to transport it. Jack will be waiting with a van nearby for transportation. You and Ryan just have to get it out the building and to the van while everyone is scrambling.”

“Sweet,” Michael said, grinning.”

“Everyone else,” Geoff said, “will be wrecking that place’s shit while Shadow Team scrambles the police and keeps them away from that building. We have a fuck ton of work to do and not a lot of time to do it, so I need a little pep in your step. We need the van, we need ordnance, we need surveillance…”

Geoff continued detailing the plan, requiring very little input from Ryan as he assigned and explained roles, handing out dossiers. With Gavin’s help, they had slaved over the plan for the past couple days, hammering it out until they could plan no further. There were a few wildcards about this mission—Ryan would have to deal with Jon at some point, and they would have to figure out where exactly the machine _was_. But instead of being worried, Ryan was _excited_. And he could see his excitement reflected in Michael’s face. Jeremy looked nervous with his hands clasped tightly together, but Michael grinned a wild, wicked grin.

With the explanation done, Geoff dismissed them to get started on their preparations. The Fakes started to dissipate, and Ray headed for the garage door in the kitchen with Michael for an ordnance shopping trip. Ryan jogged after him before they reached the garage, grabbing Ray’s arm and stopping him. Ray jumped at his touch, and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Listen, uh…” Ryan started quietly. Michael gave them a glance, then continued on to the garage, letting the door shut behind him. “I know this is not the best time with all the work we have to do. But when we both have the time, I want to have a proper talk. Okay? I don’t want this sitting between us. I—even if you don’t feel the way I feel, I still care about you deeply. I still want to have you in my life.”

Ray nodded, ducking his head to avoid Ryan’s eyes. “Yeah, I…” He took a deep breath and laid his hand over Ryan’s on his arm. “We’ll talk. Soon.”

Ryan nodded as well. He let go of Ray’s arm, and Ray slipped away, disappearing into the garage. Ryan sighed and took off his mask, running his fingers through his hair. He set the mask on the kitchen counter and leaned against it, staring at a spot on the floor. He needed a few moments. Just a few moments to let his heart remember what it was like to beat.

An aluminum can clinked on the counter next to him. Ryan looked up to see Meg set a Diet Coke down, and when she caught his eye, she poked it towards him with a small smile.

“Worried?” she asked. Ryan shrugged. “I don’t get to know about your plans, really, but it seems like a lot hinges on you. At least, in the beginning.”

“It’s not that,” Ryan admitted. “I can handle _that_.”

“Ah,” she said, leaning against the counter as well. She crossed her arms and nodded sagely. “Is it Ray, then?”

Ryan shrugged again. He picked up the Diet Coke and cracked it open so he wouldn’t have to respond.

“I’m sure it’ll work itself out,” Meg said. “You’ve known him for… how long now?”

“Two years.”

Meg sucked in a breath. “So you met him the last time he… You met him two years ago. I see.”

Ryan frowned at her, and she shook her head with a small smile on her face. “It’ll work itself out,” she repeated. “Just focus on the mission for now.”

“Of course,” said Ryan. “Thanks for the Diet Coke.”

“Anything for you,” Meg replied with a wink. “If you need me—like if you just want to chill or chat or something, I’ll be around.”

“Thanks,” he said again. Meg patted his arm before pushing away from the counter and heading for her upstairs. Ryan rapped his fingernails against his soda can, then touched the cold aluminum to his lips, rested its chill against his skin.

No one else bothered him. He allowed himself to finish his soda before he moved again. There was work to be done.

* * *

 

Ryan’s phone rang, buzzing against the coffee table he left it on. He adjusted his bowtie one last time in the bathroom mirror. That call would be Jon, telling him he was waiting outside with the limo taxi. Ryan flinched at his reflection. The event was fancy enough that they were expected to show up in a fucking _limo_. He plucked Steffie’s tiny earbud from his bathroom counter and stuck it in his ear before leaving the bathroom and getting his phone.

“Ready?” Jon asked as soon as he picked up.

“I should be asking you that,” Ryan said. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jon forced a laugh. “It’s _only_ the riskiest, scariest thing I’ve ever done. I’ll be waiting.”

Ryan pocketed his phone and brushed the front of his suit, tugged the hem of his tux jacket. He wouldn’t be able to bring any weapons inside. Not even his knives. All he had was black and white face paint and a small makeup sponge, hidden in his waistcoat pockets. Weapons would be found by security, but once he split from Jon he could cover his face and get a gun and body armor from Michael.

Ryan left his apartment, descended the complex’s stairs, and exited the building to greet Jon waiting in front of the sleek black limo. Jon had his hair tied back in a ponytail, and his face was blank and serious—though Ryan could see the tenseness in his jaw. His tux was midnight blue, the collar black satin.

Ryan whistled as he approached. “Looking sharp.”

Jon cracked a smile. “You did say I looked good in blue,” he said, shrugging. A spot of color appeared in his cheeks. “Let’s—let’s get going, before I vomit from anticipation.”

Ryan chuckled and patted Jon on the shoulder before reaching for the passenger door. He pulled it open for Jon and let him duck in before him. Ryan slipped inside and closed the door behind him. As he settled on the limo’s long car seat bench next to Jon, he glanced at the driver through the little window at the front and met Michael’s eyes through the rearview mirror. No nods, no winks, no acknowledgement.

Ryan gave Jon a reassuring smile. All according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ready for this?
> 
> (also if anything about all the time skips confuses you, please let me know and i'll make them clearer)


	19. In Which Ryan and Jon Sneak Around

The limousine arrived fashionably late to the office building—along with several other fashionably late guests. Ryan and Jon thanked their driver, who went off to go hang with the other limos and their drivers down the street. Through the front door, the lobby of the corporate building was carefully segregated into short lines that lead through a bag check and metal detectors set up across the room.

Jon had his camera, but the guard at the bag check looked at his invitation and stopped him.

“Sorry, Mr. Risinger,” said the guard. “Only the press can have cameras.”

“But I _am_ press,” Jon insisted.

The guard shook her head. “Not tonight, you’re not. Your invitation lists you as just a guest. I’ll have to hold on to your camera, or you can return it to your car.”

Jon grumbled and handed it over to her. She put a tag on its strap and gave Jon a little piece of paper with a number on it so that he could claim the camera later. Otherwise, Ryan and Jon made it through security without issue and followed the crowd and guiding guards towards the conference hall.

Ryan was surprised by the hall. Despite working in the same building for the same Saga Systems, he had never ventured into the conference hall. Its height took up two floors, with a walkway at one narrow end cutting across where the second floor would be. Its walls were a pale gold and white patterned wallpaper, brightened by the intricate glass chanceliers. Underneath the walkway was a dais with a long dinner table. Off to the side of this was a small orchestra playing a waltz.

Round tables were everywhere, covered with white tablecloths and ceramic dishes. These tables took up half the room, leaving space for socializing and dancing. And at one of the long walls, a buffet table with hors d’oeuvres and punch bowls sang a sweet siren song. There had to be a couple hundred people here. Men in fine tuxes not unlike Ryan’s and Jon’s, women in cocktail dresses, waiters in waistcoats expertly balancing trays and weaving around the crowd, and a handful of photographers dancing around with their approved cameras.

The tiny speaker in Ryan’s ear whistled.

“Wow, this place looks nice!” Matt said. “Gavin’s patched me in, by the way. I’ll be watching you alone while he tracks down the machine.”

Ryan almost said “Thanks Matt,” before he caught himself. Matt might be watching through the security cameras now, but he still couldn’t hear Ryan. Ryan and Jon plunged into the crowd, quickly becoming surrounded by people who only gave them a cursory glance. Ryan found himself watching each face carefully. He felt wired and on edge now that he was on the inside. These people had no idea what was planned for tonight…

Jon grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, downed it in one go, then replaced it on the platter and took a new one before the waiter could slip away. Ryan frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m nervous, okay?” Jon hissed, catching his look. “I’m allowed to be nervous!”

“Yes,” said Ryan, “but I don’t think that’s how you calm the nerves.”

“As long as it makes me feel something other than what I’m feeling right now, I don’t care,” Jon snapped before downing the second flute.

“Okay, no, stop.” Ryan snatched Jon’s wrist, plucked the flute from Jon’s hand, and placed it on another passing waiter’s tray. He tugged Jon off to the side and out of the crowd, and positioned them so that Jon was against the wall and Ryan blocked most of his view. “You’re acting ridiculous.”

“I’m _nervous_ ,” Jon insisted. He stared at a spot on Ryan’s shoulder.

“And what _exactly_ are you nervous about?” Ryan said in a low voice.

“I dunno, just…” Jon waved his hand in a circular motion, gesturing to the room at large. “Everything.”

“That’s not specific enough,” Ryan growled. He planted his hands against the wall on either side of Jon’s head. “You were all for this. You were prepared. If you’re getting jittery now, you might cost us everything.”

“I know, I _know_ ,” Jon said. He sighed and rubbed his mouth. “I’m just—I’m already not great about parties. And now I’m at one with _expectations_.”

“Because the CEO invited you?”

“Because the CEO invited me,” Jon agreed. He finally met Ryan’s eyes and swallowed. “I’m not even a part of the press. I’m just—here.”

“You will be fine,” Ryan said. “You probably won’t even _see_ him up close.”

Jon ducked his head. “Yeah,” he admitted. “You’re probably right.”

“There you are!” someone called. Ryan flinched. “I was wondering if you would show up at all!”

“Speak of the devil…” Ryan muttered under his breath. Jon looked half-dead already. They turned to face the CEO and Ryan felt a surge of hate. Hate for the hair that was more salt than pepper, cropped close to the head. Hate for the hazel eyes crinkled with crows’ feet. Hate for the narrow face and square chin, for the fine black tux and the haughty shoulders. Hate for the fake smile, the constant tilt of jaw so that he always seemed to be sneering.

Ryan didn’t realize he was clenching his hand into a fist until his nails bit into the soft flesh of his palm.

“Hello there! Jon!” the CEO greeted cheerfully.

“Hi, Ed,” Jon greeted back, significantly less cheerfully.

Ed sniffed, his nostrils flaring. “Did you bring… your boyfriend? Because if so, I’ll have to ask you keep the PDA to a minimum.”

“He’s not—no!” Jon said, his face flushing. “No, he’s just my plus one.”

“Hello, Ed,” Ryan said softly. Ed frowned, studying him.

“You do seem rater familiar, actually. Hmm… Oh! I remember seeing you around the office. You’re in the QA department.”

“I _was_.”

Ed nodded. “Yes, we did downsize that department recently. Oh! Looks like your friend Omar and his ‘plus one’ found us, too!”

Ed waved at two approaching men. One was a bit heavyset with tan skin and sleepy eyes. The other was taller with black curly hair, goatee, and a curved nose. The second man was already nursing a wine glass.

“Hey, Omar,” Jon said to the first man. His voice already sounded defeated, flat with weariness. “Omar, this is Ryan. Ryan, Omar.”

Ryan shook Omar’s hand. Matt hummed in his ear. “That man with the wine glass seems familiar… but I can’t place it. Hold on.”

“Hello boys, I’m Joel,” said the second man, smiling. He shook Ryan’s hand, then Jon’s. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jon. Omar has talked about you!”

Jon forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Ryan bit the inside of his cheek. Jon looked ready to puke. Ryan had to figure out how to disengage before nerves ruined everything.

“Really!” Jon exclaimed. He was better at the voice this time; even Ryan believed his social enthusiasm. “I can’t say I’ve heard much about you from Omar…”

Joel waved his free hand lazily. “Oh, I’m no one important. But I’m a huge fan of your pictures. The last one of the Vagabond? A perfect flair of dramatic.”

Jon glanced at Ryan. He looked like he was drowning.

Ed chuckled. “I’ll let you four chat it up,” he said with a wink. “Well, Jonathan! I’ll see you later. Enjoy the party!”

“It—it’s just Jon,” Jon said, but the CEO had already walked away. Jon huffed. “That guy, I swear…”

“Oh _fuck_ , dude,” Matt cursed in Ryan’s ear, loud enough that Ryan flinched. “Ryan, that’s—I’m like ninety percent sure that’s Joel Rubin from Funhaus. He usually takes care of the business side of things. He doesn’t show his face a lot, and he’s not really a fighter, so it’s hard to link him. But if _he’s_ here… I don’t know. Be careful. We knew Funhaus would likely show up at some point, but… I should tell the others…”

Matt trailed off. Ryan’s ears buzzed, and he stopped listening to the conversation between Jon, Omar, and Joel. _Omar and Joel_... If Omar had brought Joel—invited Joel… A chill iced his veins, raising goosebumps all along his skin. If this Joel was the Joel from Funhaus, and he was Omar’s plus one, then that meant Omar was working for Funhaus. That meant Funhaus knew as much as the Fakes about the machine. That meant… That meant…

“Hey!” Jon snapped his fingers in front of Ryan’s face. Ryan jumped and blinked. He had been staring at Omar. “You okay?”

“Yeah, uh.” Ryan cleared his throat. “Just zoned out a bit. Sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been to an event quite this big.”

Jon was still giving him a concerned look, but Joel laughed pleasantly.

“Totally understandable,” he said. “Might I recommend the wine? They’ve got some fine vintage over there, and the buzz will help the nerves.”

Jon opened his mouth, but Ryan threw his arm around his shoulders and said, “Great idea. I think we’ll do just that. We’ll chat later.”

“Ryan,” Jon whispered as Ryan steered him towards the hors d’oeuvres table. “You don’t drink. You _hate_ wine.”

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Ryan grumbled. “I saved you from that conversation.”

“I guess you did.” Jon sniffed. “You can—you can let me go now.”

Ryan’s cheeks warmed, and he quickly took his arm back from around Jon’s shoulders. They continued weaving through the crowd towards the food. They each grabbed a small, fancy-looking plastic plate and picked anything that looked interesting to eat. They hovered around the table, neither feeling any real urge to plunge into the crowd. All the while, Matt whispered the Fakes’ positions to Ryan as they changed.

That was where the CEO found them again—appeared right next to Ryan just as he shoved an entire salmon-topped cracker in his mouth. Ryan nearly choked as Ed laughed. Jon briefly met Ryan’s eyes, then quickly tried the salmon cracker himself.

“Good choice with the salmon,” said Ed pleasantly. He quirked an eyebrow and smirked at Jon. “But I do hope you and your date don’t spend _all_ your time here.”

“He’s not my…”

“And where else would we go?” Ryan asked.

Ed chuckled. “The dancefloor is open, for one, with an absolutely _lovely_ orchestra. But I understand if dancing is not your thing. Otherwise, Mr. Risinger, any of my other guests would be _pleased_ to meet you. It’s hard to meet someone who has not seen your contributions to media and journalism.”

Ryan opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but Matt suddenly whispered in his hear, “ _Michael is in position, waiting for you._ ”

So instead, Jon spoke before him and said, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” The statement left little for the conversation to continue on, so Ed nodded and said farewell once more. As soon as he was far enough away, Jon stepped close to Ryan and said, “He’s taunting me.”

“ _Taunting_ you?”

“Last time he saw me, I puked on his floor,” Jon said, scowling at the hors d’oeuvres. “He’s being so _nice_. Almost like he’s _daring_ me.”

“He probably wants to be on your good side,” Ryan said. “If you like him, why would you dig deeper?”

“You think that’s why he invited me and Omar?” Jon said, tilting his head. “He wants us to like him so we’ll be nice in our articles about him and the research he funds? And then we wouldn’t wonder what else he might be doing? But I’m not even here as press!”

Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “All I know is that he thinks he’s better than us, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try to manipulate you.”

Jon looked so miserable that Ryan reached out and briefly hugged him to his side in a one-armed embrace. Then he leaned close to Jon’s ear.

“We should do some scouting,” Ryan whispered. “If you have any hope of doing what you want to do, we need to know what we’re working around.”

Jon nodded, his eyes catching a determined gleam. The idea of their mission seemed to override the anxiety this party was giving him. “Time to start Operation: Find the Bathroom,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk.

Ryan patted Jon’s shoulder. Then they split up and headed in opposite directions. Ryan already knew what the security looked like, both in and out of the conference hall, thanks to Matt’s cameras. Ryan wove through the crowd, flashing a pleasant smile at anyone he made eye contact with, until he reached a door and went outside.

The hallways surrounding the conference hall were loosely guarded. A few lightly dressed guards hovered around entrances and exits. Several guests milled about here, drinks in hand as they sought the less crowded atmosphere of the hallway. It was quieter here, murmurs waving through the air. The guards all wore shades and blank faces, their navy uniforms trim and serious. Ryan didn’t even bother glancing at them as he strolled down the hallway.

Ryan snuck around towards the back of the building. Once he got a hallway or two away from the conference hall, the number of guests and guards dwindled to zero. His shoes tapped quietly against the thin carpet, and the empty walls were only occasionally decorated with a basic, cheap painting.

He found the emergency exit and paused.

“One second…” Matt muttered through the earpiece. Ryan heard the rapid-fire clicks of a keyboard, and then Matt said, “Okay, I’ve disabled the fire alarm.”

Ryan spotted the security camera and blew it a kiss. Matt chuckled. Ryan shoved down on the bar running across the door and heaved it open, revealing Michael in the alleyway beyond. Michael grinned and plucked proudly at his suit’s collar. It wasn’t as fine a suit as Ryan’s, but at a glance he might have been another guest rather than a limo driver—and the glance was all that mattered.

Michael grabbed his duffel bag from the ground next to him as Matt informed them that the coast was still clear. “Having fun at the party?” Michael asked.

Ryan wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue. “Ugh, what a bunch of stuck-up bigwigs.”

“Can’t wait to ruin their fucking evening,” Michael said with a cackle. He shouldered the duffle bag and started down the hallway. “I’ll stash your shit until we’re ready to go. Have fun cat-burgling with your friend.”

Gavin’s voice suddenly chipped in, and Michael hesitated to listen. “Be careful on the upper floors, you two!” Gavin said. “There’s not a ton of cameras up there, but in some of the offices there seem to be some patrolling security guards. I’ve seen them a couple times.”

“The machine’s probably on one of those floors, too,” Michael said, a wicked glint in his eye. “What else would they be guarding?”

Ryan shrugged. “We’ll see. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Ryan turned and headed back for the party, retracing his steps. His earpiece was silent the whole way as he passed those cheap-ass landscape paintings and scuffed his shoes on the thin-ass carpet. All this luxury was fake. He scowled. He’d walked some of these halls before, but it was daytime then, and he wore business casual then. And he was suffocated, then, suffocated in an office that didn’t care how long he worked, didn’t care how he felt.

Oh, he was going to relish the havoc the Fakes would cause later.

“Excuse me, sir?” Ryan glanced at the guard. It was the last one he had passed on his way towards the fire exit—now it was the first one he passed on the way back to the party. He could see a few guests further down the hall, but he was clearly out of place, wandering around. “Can I help you with something?”

“Just looking for the bathroom!” Ryan said, beaming. The guard smiled back and chuckled.

“It’s that way, sir. If you get lost again, please ask any of us.”

“Thank you!” Ryan flashed the guard another smile and went where he was told. Further down the hallway, turn a corner, and there were the bathrooms. Jon was already waiting, leaning against the wall next to the entrance to the men’s room. He perked up when he saw Ryan, and stepped away from the wall towards him.

“We good?” Jon asked as Ryan approached.

“Yep,” said Ryan. “We should do this now, before the dinner starts. We don’t want to be missed at our table. Are you ready?”

Jon sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He dug into his suit’s inner pocket and fished out a small white USB flash-drive and a white plastic keycard. He grinned at Ryan. “Let’s do this.”

“What’s that?” Ryan asked.

“Our way into the office and his computer,” Jon said, tucking the items back into his jacket. “There’s no one specifically guarding the stairs, just someone walking around, so if we time it right, we’ll be upstairs no problem.”

“Excellent.”

The two of them strolled away from the bathrooms, sparing no glances at fellow guests or any of the guards. They looked like they knew where they were going, even as they headed down an empty hallway. The only thing different about this hallway from the ones Ryan had traversed earlier were the paintings. They reached a corner and paused, peeking around it towards the door to the stairs. A single guard had his back to them as he patrolled away, and when he rounded the opposite corner, Jon and Ryan took off.

They jogged halfway down the hallway to the door and slipped inside. They wasted no time in hurrying up the dark stairs, not stopping and not speaking until they reached the floor the Saga Systems offices were on. Well, _one_ of the floors—Saga Systems took up two floors of office space, but this one had the CEO’s office.

Ryan put a hand on Jon’s shoulder to stop him from barging through the door.

“Wait,” Ryan whispered. “Just in case there’s someone wandering around.”

Jon nodded, his eyes wide. He let Ryan step in front of him and press his ear against the door. When he didn’t hear anything, he slowly cracked it open.

“You’re clear, Ryan,” Gavin chirped in his ear, taking over for Matt. “No one’s in the hall right there, and I don’t think anyone’s coming soon.”

Ryan motioned to Jon and pushed against the door. It swung open soundlessly, and he let Jon duck under his arm before gently easing the door closed again. And then they were there. The white walls, the glass doors to the right of the short hallway which served as the front entrance, and the windowless heavy door to the left which was a sort of back entrance were all familiar to Ryan.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Jon breathed. “My heart is pounding.”

Ryan shushed him. “Let’s just get to that office.”

“Right,” Jon agreed. “Okay.”

Jon didn’t wait for Ryan, but headed for the windowless door. Ryan jogged after him with a frown. “How did you even get that keycard?”

Jon flashed a smile and waved the keycard. “I might mostly just take pictures, but I’m still a journalist with journalist connections.”

“I see. Very nice,” Ryan said honestly.

“Cameras are limited in there,” Gavin reminded Ryan. “I’ll do my best, but there are a lot of blind spots.”

Jon took a deep breath, then scanned the card on a little scanner next to the door. The door unlocked with a beep and a click. Jon yanked the door open, and they slipped inside.

Ryan took a moment to be hit by a wave of crushing familiarity. Saga Systems’ two floors were stunningly identical. The floor was divvied up by rows of cubicles, and the walls of the building were mostly decorated with windows into the offices. The only lights on were the emergency lights—a red glow here, a single fluorescent bulb there. Not much different from a typical office building.

Ryan pressed a finger over his lips, and Jon frowned but nodded. Jon might not have expected anyone to be up here, but he wasn’t disagreeing with Ryan’s caution.

They crept through the cubicles, sticking close in case they needed a quick hiding spot. Ryan’s ears pricked as he listened for footsteps, though he heard nothing and Gavin did not warn him of anything.

The CEO’s office door was locked. Ryan’s heart sank as Jon tried the handle. The walls on either side of the door were windows, through which Ryan sadly peered into the dark office beyond. He didn’t think these offices were usually locked. He wasn’t prepared for this.

But Jon didn’t bat an eye. He took the keycard out again and wedged it between the door and its frame, jiggling and sliding it over the latch until the door popped open. Ryan stared as Jon held the door for him with a pleased smile. He shook his head before walking into the dark office, letting Jon shut the door behind him.

The office was just about as luxurious as one would expect from a CEO. A leather couch squatted on the left underneath a wall of bookshelves. A stained wood desk was straight ahead with a desktop computer and several notebooks strewn across its surface. Behind the desk was the wall of windows to the city outside. To the right, a pair of expensive paintings hung over two wooden chairs that could be quickly grabbed to sit in front of the desk. Both corners by the outside windows held a tall potted plant with broad leaves.

Jon made a beeline for the computer, punching the power button and jamming the flash-drive into a USB port on the side. His face lit up in pale blue light, making him look like a washed out ghost. He tapped the keyboard rapidly, his eyes glued to the screen.

“This’ll take a while,” Jon said. “Sorry.”

“Alright.”

Ryan chewed on his lip. The hairs on his arms rose, and he was starting to feel jittery now that they were at their destination. Like someone was watching him, waiting for him. Now that they were here, now that they were no longer sneaking around, he felt like he was being drawn thin. He hated this—this anticipation for action, with nothing to do except wait for Jon to be done.

He rapped his fingers against his thigh and hovered near the door, keeping an eye on the rest of the office building. Five minutes felt like an hour. Eventually Ryan asked, “That flash-drive is getting you into Ed’s files, yeah? I’m really curious about who let you have something like that.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Jon said, not even looking up as he leaned over the keyboard. “Or, in this case, his helpers.”

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises tonight,” Ryan teased.

Jon’s eyes widened as he stared at the computer, images flashing their white light over his face. “No way,” he whispered. “What _are_ these things?”

“What?”

Ryan stepped closer, but then Gavin exclaimed, “Oh no! Ryan, there’s a guard heading right towards you!”

He looked back at the CEO’s door. He glanced at Jon, whose gaze had not left the computer since it had powered on, before edging towards the windows next to the door and peeking out. Sure enough, a guard rounded the corner of a cubicle, and was slowly making his way towards them, stopping at every office along the way to try the handle and look inside.

“Jon,” Ryan said, and the sharpness in his voice made him finally look up. “We’ve got company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, why do parties take up so much time? ;P Hope you enjoyed! I'm so excited to finally get to this part of the story!


	20. In Which the Fakes Crash a Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°  
> I WAS going to post this last night, but my router died literally right as I was about to post it. Oh well, 8 hours doesn't make a huge difference. Enjoy!

“What?” Jon breathed.

“There’s a guard coming.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Jon’s hands fluttered uselessly in the air above the keyboard as Ryan joined him at the computer. Images flashed across the screen underneath a window showing the progression of files being copied to the flash-drive. Most of them were word documents or detailed blueprints, or went by too quickly, but Ryan thought he saw a picture of a candle and a picture of a… dog collar? “We—we’ve got to hide.”

“In _this_ room?” Ryan scoffed. The room was designed to be entirely visible from the hall. All the offices were. “Maybe one of us could hide behind the desk, but there’s not space for two of us. We’d be spotted.”

“The flash-drive is almost done grabbing the files,” Jon moaned. “What do we do?”

Gavin urged, “Now is the time to get creative, Ryan!”

Ryan chewed his lip. “I have an idea, but you’ll have to really commit to playing along. I _know_ you can act with me. Okay?”

Jon turned to face Ryan. “W-what did you have in mind?”

Ryan stepped close. Jon flinched back so that he was pressed against the desk. Ryan reached behind Jon’s head and undid his hair tie, fluffing out his hair as he did so.

“Ryan,” Jon muttered. Ryan reached for the buttons of his jacket, and Jon grabbed his hands.

“They think I’m your date,” Ryan said quickly. “If they think we escaped here to be a little naughty, then we can probably get away with just a slap on the wrist and no suspicion.”

Jon set his mouth in a hard line as understanding dawned in his eyes. Ryan felt Jon’s grip on his hand tighten, trembling a little.

“Fine, then,” said Jon. “Let’s make this convincing.”

He reached up and ruffled Ryan’s hair. They each unbuttoned their own jacket, before Jon leaned heavily against the desk and tugged Ryan’s hips closer.

“Sorry in advance,” Ryan whispered with a wince. This was going to be fucking weird, kissing his friend. And from Jon’s expression, he thought Jon might feel the same.

“If this doesn’t work, I’m definitely selling you out,” Jon muttered.

 _It doesn’t mean anything_ , Ryan thought desperately as he and Jon leaned into each other. Their mouths steadily worked against each other, finding a rhythm. His stomach twisted and fluttered. _I’m using him. I’m using him. I’m using him._

The computer beeped happily. Jon’s hand drifted to the computer as they kissed, and he jerked the flash-drive out of the computer. Ryan took the opportunity to hit the power button on the computer just as he saw movement at the window in his peripheral vision. The guard was here. He threaded his fingers through Jon’s hair and deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue past Jon’s lips. Jon sighed.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!”

They ignored the guard. Jon leaned back, pulling Ryan with him, encouraging a more horizontal position. His hand slid around Ryan’s back, and Ryan felt him slip the flash-drive into his back pocket.

The guard’s boots thumped across the floor until Ryan felt a hand grab the back of his collar and hoist him away. The guard stepped between them, fury lining his brow with wrinkles. He was bald, with pale eyes and a square jaw. Dressed all in navy with short sleeves, he didn’t wear any body armor, but had a utility belt with a pistol, handcuffs, a stun gun, and pepper spray.

“What the fuck are you two doing in here?” the guard snapped.

“Uh, having some fun,” Ryan said with a huff. He crossed his arms to hide how his hands were shaking.

“Yeah, thanks for interrupting,” Jon said sourly.

“This is a restricted area,” the guard scolded. “You look like guests from the party downstairs. Come with me, I’ll escort you back.”

The guard grabbed both of their wrists and yanked them back to the exit, ignoring when they stumbled. The grip was tight, and Ryan’s heart pounded as he glanced at Jon. For once, Jon didn’t look terrified. He grinned at Ryan with a wild look in his eyes.

The guard pulled them past the cubicles and back to the stairs. Another guard came out of the stairs and stopped when he saw the three of them. His hair was short and dark in an army-style cut, and his shoulders were wide and strong. Their guard let go of their wrists, confident that Jon and Ryan couldn’t escape.

“Hey, Bill,” said the new guard. “You caught some trespassers? Up here?”

“Hi Todd,” said Bill. “These two lovebirds were trying to fuck in the CEO’s office. I’m escorting them back to the party.”

The other guard, Todd, made a disgusted face, then glared at Ryan and Jon.

“Have you no shame?” he asked. Then his expression slackened as he looked Jon, and his mouth fell open. “Hold on—Bill, do you know who they are?”

Bill glanced back at them. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. “No?”

“You said they were in the CEO’s office?” Todd asked.

“Yeah…?”

Todd pointed at Jon, who jumped and raised his hands defensively. Jon’s face looked waxen, and he was visibly shaking. “This guy is from the magazine. He’s a journalist.”

“Oh, shit, no way,” said Bill.

“Grab him,” Todd snapped. “Him and his accomplice. Help me stick them somewhere until I can report to our superiors about this. Make sure he doesn’t have anything stolen on him, either. I don’t think these two were trespassing to have some fucking fun.”

“Understood.”

Bill lunged for Jon, grabbing his arms. Jon yelped as the guard twisted his arms behind his back. Ryan didn’t have time to react and help before the other guard lunged for him as well. Ryan slapped the guard’s hands away, but Todd darted around his flailing limbs and snatched his wrists. Ryan’s arms, too, were twisted behind his back.

Todd snapped his fingers, holding Ryan’s wrists together with one hand, and an ice cold rope-like feeling wrapped around his wrists. He tugged, but his wrists were secured, the hairs on his arms standing up both in response to the chill and to the magic. Todd snapped his fingers again, and Jon winced as his wrists too were bound by some sort of magic handcuff.

“Don’t worry Ryan!” Gavin blurted. “The others know. Help will come soon. Be patient, okay?”

“Move,” Todd ordered, shoving Ryan towards the stairs.

The guards took them down to the second floor, which was just as brightly list as the first floor. They stopped in front of an unmarked, windowless door a few paces away from where the stairs let them out. Ryan guessed it was a supply closet. Todd ordered Bill to search them as he pulled out a ring of keys and crouched in front of the door.

Bill stood in front of Jon and patted him down, starting with the torso and hips, then feeling the arms and legs. He found Jon’s keycard and wallet, and after flipping through the wallet, put that back in Jon’s pocket for him while keeping the keycard.

“Nothing on him,” Bill said. “Just a keycard I’m assuming he used to get in.”

“Either stolen or pre-made. Definitely not an innocent jaunt upstairs. Check his friend,” said Todd with a sigh. He cursed under his breath. “Why are there so many _keys_ … Aha!”

The door unlocked with a grating click. Bill stepped in front of Ryan and told him to hold his arms out as best he could while magically handcuffed. Ryan bit his tongue. He hadn’t had the chance to move the flash-drive from his pocket, and it would be super awkward if Bill found that or his face paint. He hoped the face paint was flat enough against his ribcage that the pat wouldn’t feel it.

Bill never made it that far. He gently tugged on Ryan’s arm to encourage him, then stopped. Ryan’s breath hitched as Bill leaned closer to his ear. “Hold on…”

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

“He’s got something in his ear.”

“What?” snapped the other guard.

“What?” whispered Jon.

Oh, _fuck._

Bill suddenly dug his fingers into Ryan’s ear. Ryan flinched, but Bill used his other hand to hold his head steady. The guard’s prying fingers loosed the tiny earpiece from Ryan’s ear. He held it up to show Todd, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“What the fuck is that?” asked Todd. He looked at Ryan. “What the fuck is that?”

All three of them were staring at him. Bill looked curious, the other guard furious, and Jon—Ryan couldn’t read his expression. He just stared, and Ryan felt like his façade was crumbling. He couldn’t think of a _lie_. He had no excuse good enough to cover this earpiece. So he just said nothing.

“It looks kind of like an earbud,” said Bill. He held it up to his ear, and perhaps a second later, he yelped and reflexively hurled it away from him. The earpiece bounced off the wall and skittered back across the carpet to roll to a stop by Bill’s shoe. Even from where he stood, Ryan could hear the high-pitched sound screaming from the tiny speaker. Bill lifted his foot and stomped on the earpiece.

The two guards crouched next to the destroyed earpiece and poked at its crushed remains. Ryan took that moment to make eye contact with Jon, whose face hadn’t changed since the earpiece was first noticed. Ryan’s head began to swim, and he took a deep breath.

A muffled boom quaked the floor and rattled the glass in their windows. The guards both jumped and turned towards its probable source, eyes wide as though they could see through walls and floor to the other side of the building. The walkie-talkies attached to their breast activated, a voice crackling through.

“There’s been a bomb in hallway two. I repeat, explosion in hallway two.”

Ryan could taste his heart in his throat. Jon just kept staring at him; the only indication the explosion had startled him was his clenched jaw.

“Put them in there,” Todd ordered.

Bill immediately shoved Ryan towards the open door. Ryan stumbled over the threshold and narrowly avoided colliding into a shelf of cleaning supplies. Jon stumbled in moments later, accidentally shouldering into Ryan. Ryan braced himself, and both of them managed to remain standing.

“Hey, you can’t leave us in here!” Ryan shouted. “Not when there’s a bomb!”

“Don’t worry,” said Todd, grinning as he held onto the door. “Bill will keep you company until I get back. You have until then to convince me you’ve had nothing to do with this. Bill, here’s the keys. Guard the door.”

“Yessir!”

The door slammed shut, throwing them into pitch darkness.

“I saw a light in here somewhere…” Jon muttered. Ryan heard him shuffling around near the door. A few moments later, a switch clicked, and they were bathed in weak yellow light from a single bulb.

The supply closet had wide enough floor space for one person to stand comfortably. Two people could probably wedge themselves together if they were face to face, but it would be intimately close. Shelves on the two long walls contained cleaning fluids, sponges and cloth, spare light bulbs, and various other items. The small back wall was where the mops, buckets and brooms lived.

“See anything we could use here?” Ryan asked, shrugging his elbows out to the side to demonstrate his lack of movement. Their wrists were still bound behind their backs, but surely there was a way to wriggle out of the spell.

Jon stared at him.

“Jon…”

“Why did you have a speaker in your ear,” Jon asked.

Ryan forgot how to breathe for a second.

“We don’t have time for that,” he insisted, hating himself. “There’s been an explosion, and if there’s an explosion then there’s usually a fire, and we’re locked in…”

“Fucking _Christ_ , Ryan!” Jon cried suddenly. “Just tell me why you had a fucking speaker in your ear! Who was talking to you this whole time!?”

Ryan hesitated. “I can’t tell you that right now, Jon,” he said quietly. “I’ll tell you later, I promise. But for now, we need to get out of here.”

“ _Do_ you promise?” Jon snarled. “Do you swear it? Once we’re out, you’ll tell me?”

“I swear,” Ryan pleaded. “Please, Jon, I need you on my side.”

Jon huffed, quickly scanning the shelves with an intense glare. He jerked his chin at a part of the shelf behind Ryan.

“I think I see a box of nails behind you,” he said quietly—he almost seethed his words. “Maybe we can break the connection between our wrists with the iron.”

The small cardboard box was at shoulder height, so there was no way Ryan could grab it with how his hands were bound. He stepped close and nudged the box with his chin, slowly sliding it to the edge of the shelf and tipping it off. The box hit the ground and spilled its contents with a sharp clatter.

Ryan kneeled next to the nails and blindly groped for one. Once he had one, he maneuvered it around his fingers so that the tip angled towards his inner wrist, and he could grip it in a way that he could somewhat stab with it.

“I got one,” he told Jon. “You think this’ll work?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Jon said. “I’m just hoping breaking the connection between our wrists will be like snapping the chain on physical handcuffs.”

“Fair enough,” Ryan said, shrugging. “Turn around so I can getcha.”

Jon obeyed. Now Ryan could see clearly the shimmering, translucent purple cord wrapping around Jon’s wrists, holding them in an X-formation with one hand over the other. Ryan turned and felt for Jon’s hands with the one not holding the nail. Jon’s hands twitched when he made contact. He gently trailed his fingers over Jon’s palm until he felt the chill cord—it felt like low-density gelatin.

Ryan adjusted his grip on the nail and carefully pressed the tip against the magic cord. He wriggled it, using his other hand to keep his touch on Jon’s hand for guidance. He didn’t want to accidentally _stab_ Jon. He slid the nail between Jon’s wrists, then twisted it and levered it up. Jon yanked his hands apart, and the cord snapped. Jon sighed, rubbing his wrists as the purple magic faded away.

“Perfect,” he muttered. Then he took the nail from Ryan. “Now I’ll do you.”

Jon was a lot rougher than Ryan had been. He shoved the nail between Ryan’s wrists, the tip scraping across his skin. Ryan was quite glad he was up to date on his tetanus shots, even though the nail didn’t break the skin. The nail pinched against his skin as Jon jiggled it and broke the cord’s connection. Ryan bit his tongue and thanked Jon when his wrists were freed.

“Great,” said Jon, setting the nail on a nearby shelf. “Now what? Door’s locked, and there’s a guard outside.”

The back of Ryan’s neck prickled. If he waited long enough, one of the Fakes would come by and free them somehow. But Jon didn’t know that—and Ryan didn’t know how long that would take. Surely he could get out first without needing to be rescued?

“Maybe we could trick him into opening the door?” Ryan suggested. “If one of us, I don’t know, fakes illness…”

“By all means,” Jon said, stepping aside and giving Ryan enough space that he could squeeze by him. “Go knock on the door and convince that guy that I’m in dire need of attention. I’m sure he’ll be so very helpful.”

“I don’t see you coming up with a better plan,” Ryan grumbled.

He brushed past Jon and approached the door. He stopped right in front of it and raised his hand, but hesitated when he heard a quiet but sharp _thump_. He heard the guard say _huh?_ and he heard a soft hiss.

The guard shouted. “Hey!”

Ryan spun around, heart racing. “Get down!” he cried, and he dove. Jon yelped as Ryan tackled him to the ground. The shelves shook, and then…

The explosion rattled Ryan’s eardrums. The guard screamed as the door splintered and burst open, swinging on fractured hinges. Jon shuddered underneath him, curled up under Ryan’s protective weight as shrapnel sprinkled around them.

“What the fuck?” Jon rasped. “What the fuck was that? Was that a grenade?”

Ryan pushed himself up, and Jon scooted back so that he could sit up as well. He looked back towards the broken door. He could see the hallway beyond, could see the singed and scratched parts of the carpet, and could see the boots of Bill as he lay sprawled on the ground, the rest of him hidden by the wall.

A person sprinted by the now-open door and stopped there, glancing first at the guard’s body, then inside the closet. Ryan’s heart wedged itself into his throat and stopped beating. He met Ray’s eyes and couldn’t seem to look away, and Ray couldn’t seem to either. The moment hovered in the air, like time had stopped. It felt like a few minutes, but it was probably just a few seconds. Ray in his purple hoodie, holding an SMG, with a rifle slung over his shoulder and across his chest.

Then Ryan remembered his kiss with Jon, and guilt throttled his throat. Even though they weren’t… _together_ , Ryan felt as though he had been somehow disloyal. Ray broke the moment. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything special. He just tore his gaze away and sprinted past the doorway. Ryan wished it would have lasted longer, wished he could sort through his feelings, but he still had to suppress a smile. _Ray_ had been the one to rescue him, after all…

“Oh my god,” Jon whispered. Oh, no. He could hear Jon’s quick, rasping breaths. “Was that—was that one of the Fakes?”

“I dunno,” Ryan lied.

“Is he—dead?” Jon squeaked. “The guard?”

Nausea churned in Ryan’s gut. He hadn’t minded the deaths of hired mercenaries, throwing their lives at the Fakes in a kill-or-be-killed situation. But the guard…?

“Probably.”

“So the Fakes are here,” Jon said, his eyes huge as he stared at Ryan. “The Fakes are crashing the party.”

“I guess so,” said Ryan impatiently. “We’re free now, and I don’t give a fuck who released us. We really should go.”

“Right.” Jon nodded, still wide-eyed. Ryan stood and offered him his hand, which he took. “Right. Okay. Let’s go.”

Ryan heaved Jon back to his feet and gave him a pat when he was standing again. He stopped Jon before they left the closet though, squeezing Jon’s shoulder. He retrieved the flash-drive from his pocket and placed it in Jon’s hand, folding Jon’s fingers over it.

“Remember what we did all this for,” Ryan said in a low voice. “It’s your job to get this out of here.”

Jon’s jaw clenched tight as he tucked the flash-drive away into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. He straightened his collar and buttoned his jacket back up with a huff. But then, instead of moving, he remained where he stood.

“Ryan,” he said, his voice tight and high-pitched. “I don’t—I don’t want to go out there.”

“I’ll go first, then,” said Ryan. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

Jon nodded again. He was as pale as a corpse when Ryan turned from him and headed for the door. Ryan put his hand on the splintered frame and peeked around the doorway. The guard wasn’t moving, and Ryan didn’t try to see if he was still breathing despite the blood gathering in small pools around him. Just a few paces down the hallway, Ray still waited. The moment Ryan saw him, he raised a finger to his lips and winked.

Ryan glanced towards the other end of the otherwise empty hallway for show, then beckoned to Jon. He stepped back into the hallway and faced the closet again to wait for Jon. Jon stepped out and very carefully avoided looking at the downed guard—and as such wouldn’t have seen Ray even if Ray hadn’t used his magic to conceal himself. Ryan started coaxing Jon away from Ray and the downed guard—back towards the stairs.

“We’ll get down these stairs and get out the nearest exit,” Ryan said. “Okay? Shouldn’t be too far away.”

“I hope so,” Jon whispered, staring straight ahead. “With the Fakes around—they could be anywhere.”

“Right,” Ryan said, biting back the errant giggle that bubbled up. “So we’ve gotta be careful.”

Ryan looked over his shoulder just as Ray appeared behind them, one hand outstretched. Ryan stepped away from Jon just as Ray’s hand pressed against the back of Jon’s head. Jon shuddered, stopping suddenly as his eyes went even wider. His chest heaved with his short, quick breaths, but he didn’t run, didn’t try to escape.

“I’ll take care of him,” said Ray. “He’s not going to remember anything about the next few minutes. Take my comm and go meet up with Michael.”

Ray tucked his SMG under his arm, keeping his hand on Jon’s head. He used his now-free hand to pull the small black headset off his ear and hold it out to Ryan. Ryan hooked it over his own ear, positioning the tiny black mic against his cheek.

“Welcome back, Rye!” Gavin greeted. “Say goodbye to Ray for me!”

Ryan grinned. “Gavin says goodbye,” he said.

Ray snorted and rolled his eyes. “Get going, you loaf.”

Ryan’s heart fluttered warmly. In a moment like this, he could almost forget anything negative had happened between them. Almost. He gave Ray a little wave as he departed. “I’ll see ya later,” he said. “Be good to Jon!”

“I will!” Ray called. Then, he said to Jon, “Alright, man. You and I are gonna go for a little walk…”

Ray quickly fell out of earshot. Ryan felt a thrill shiver through him as he jogged down the hallway. Now it was getting exciting. The Fakes were causing their distraction downstairs, and Michael waited for him somewhere in the building. Plus, with Ray’s help ( _Ray!_ ), he had gotten away from Jon—and Jon, too, had gotten his data.

Yes… This was what made life exciting.


	21. In Which Ryan and Michael See the Color of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.
> 
> Sorry this took a while, but it's almost 5k words, so uh. Yeah, there you go.
> 
> ....god i hope there's not any glaring errors whoops x.x

Ryan sprinted down the empty hall and ducked into the nearest bathroom. He pulled out his makeup and started dabbing the white and black paint over his face as Gavin filled him in.

“Most of the guards are downstairs, dealing with the bomb Geoff set off. We haven’t engaged fully yet but we’re running around making people worried. Geoff, Lindsay, Trevor, and Jeremy are all downstairs with a handful of mercenaries. You just saw Ray, and he’ll probably be outside after this. Michael is waiting at the meeting point on the third floor. I’ve scrambled the police radio frequencies a bit so outside help shouldn’t come for a while. But there’s still a lot of armed guards around, so be careful!”

“Roger that,” Ryan said, finishing up his face paint. The stylized skull paint grinned back at him in the mirror. It was rather nice, if he said so himself. “Do we have any idea where the machine is?”

“There’s a couple of floors with cameras I can’t access without being on the inside too. But I can see the stairways. One floor seems to have more guard activity, but I’ll leave it up to you and Michael to decide which one to check out first.”

“Thanks, Gav,” Ryan said. His hands were shaking with giddy excitement, and he took a deep breath to steady them. He pocketed the small face paint pallets and tossed the sponge into the trash. “Is there anyone else on the third floor?”

“Nope!” Gavin chirped. “You should be able to meet up with Michael with no issue.”

“Great!” Ryan said. “Thanks.”

As Gavin had predicted, Ryan didn’t run into anyone as he sprinted down the halls and up a flight of stairs. Michael was waiting outside another closet, which he pulled open as soon as he saw Ryan approach. Ryan shrugged off his tuxedo jacket in order to shrug on some body armor before grabbing his mask.

“I don’t know why you keep insisting on face paint,” Michael said, wrinkling his nose.

“Just in case,” Ryan replied simply. He pulled the rubber mask over his face, and he settled into the Vagabond with a shiver. Time for business.

“But you have a _mask_ ,” Michael said, handing him his throwing knives and an assault rifle. Ryan hid the knives on his person and gripped the assault rifle tight.

“ _Just in case_ ,” Ryan repeated, letting his voice sink deeper. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Alright, you creepy-ass mother fucker. What floor do we check out first?”

“Either the one with the most activity, or the one with the least,” Ryan said.

“Wouldn’t the most heavily guarded floor be the most likely to have the machine?” Michael asked.

“Maybe,” Ryan mused. “But we also have a smaller chance of getting caught or surrounded on the least guarded floor, and it could be that the increased guards are a distraction from what they’re _really_ protecting.”

“Don’t forget,” Gavin cut in. “You met one of the members of Funhaus. If there’s one, there’s probably more.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Michael spat. “This would be so much easier with Ray’s magic.”

“Yeah, well, he’s occupied,” Ryan said. “So we’ll make do.”

“Yeah,” Michael sighed. He crouched down to zip up the duffel bag and sling it over his shoulder once more, the strap stretching across his chest. “Let’s check out the least guarded floor, then. We can take them out and interrogate someone. Gav, make sure the others are ready to engage the crowd completely.”

“I’ll pass on the message. There’ll be about ten minutes until they’ve engaged.”

Ryan grinned as he and Michael jogged down the hallway to another staircase. They didn’t talk much as they raced up the dark stairs, their breaths rasping, and for a brief moment Ryan’s thoughts slipped back to Jon and Ray. Well—mostly Jon. If Ray was responsible and smart about it, Jon wouldn’t remember much of the night past retrieving the data and escaping the guards. It wouldn’t be good for Jon to miss Ryan, and wonder where he was…

Ryan shook his head. No time to think about that now. Ray would know what to do. Ryan could trust him.

He and Michael slowed as they reached the floors Gavin couldn’t see into. There were three total floors that Gavin couldn’t see into, and the one they wanted was the middle one. When they reached the floor below the lowest blind spot, a voice called down at them.

“Hey! Who goes there?”

Michael glanced at Ryan and drew his thumb across his throat as a signal. Ryan flicked his wrist and produced a knife with a flourish. Michael put a finger to his lips before stepping ahead of Ryan and speaking up to the voice, making his own voice nasally and pinched.

“Oh hey, uh, sorry,” Michael squawked. “I’m looking for the party, heh heh.”

Ryan hung back, following at a distance. His palm felt slick against the knife’s handle. Michael took the steps two at a time but did not run.

“The _party_ ,” the other responded. The guard appeared where the current flight of stairs met the platform in front of the door. He didn’t seem to initially see the gun held slack at Michael’s side, nor did he seem to initially notice Ryan further down the stairs. “The party is on the first fucking floor, how did you mess up that bad…?”

Michael sprinted the last couple steps, quickly closing the distance between him and the guard. Before the guard could do more than yelp, Michael swung with his gun and smashed the butt of it into the guard’s temple. The guard staggered back. Michael was brutal—he didn’t let the guard recover or call for help. He rammed his knee into the guard’s stomach, then elbowed him across the jaw. The guard dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Ryan couldn’t help but be impressed as Michael gestured to him and hurried up the stairs. Ryan could hold his own, but Michael still far outclassed him in close combat. His movements were snappy, tight—efficient.

They reached the floor that _should_ have the least amount of guards. Michael pressed his ear against the door and listened for a few moments, before cracking it open and peeking through. Ryan couldn’t see anything but a strip of darkness from his angle over Michael’s shoulder, but Michael opened it further and motioned Ryan to follow.

The door opened to a shadowy hallway, and Ryan’s skin immediately crawled. It was empty. _Deserted_ , dare he say it. Michael shivered too, but he hunched down and crept over to the nearest wall. Ryan followed, and they stuck close to the wall as they moved down the hall.

It took Ryan a few moments to understand what kind of place they were in. Instead of cubicles, this office used walls to separate workspaces. Ryan’s ears strained against the darkness. There was just enough lighting from emergency lights to illuminate dense shapes of vases and tables, and the corners of office spaces. This floor was too quiet, and Ryan could tell Michael was as tense as he. Shouldn’t this floor be guarded? Why couldn’t they hear or see anyone?

“I don’t like this,” Ryan murmured.

“ _Shh_ ,” Michael hissed, but then after a beat he whispered, “Yeah, me neither. Wait—hold on. I see a light.”

Down one of the connecting hallway was the unmistakable glow of a fluorescent bulb. The source was a solid, windowless door leaking light from its edges. Ryan and Michael hovered at the corner of that hallway, hesitating. It looked like a clear path, and if anything was to be found on this floor, it would surely be found in that room.

“Status?” Gavin asked in their earpieces.

“This floor seems deserted,” Michael reported under his breath, cupping his hand to his mouth. “All the lights are off except one behind a closed door.”

“Can you see into the room beyond it?”

“No, there’s no windows.”

Gavin hummed. “That’s highly suspicious,” he remarked.

“No shit,” Michael snapped. “It’s like a fucking red X on a treasure map. What do we do? Do we check it out?”

“It could be a trap,” Ryan said quietly. “Why would they guard the floor above and below this one, but not this one at all?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin admitted. “It could be there’s simply nothing on this floor to guard, and someone forgot to turn off the lights. That’s the most obvious and most likely answer. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, just stay sharp.”

“Always do,” Michael said. “Okay, we’re moving towards it.”

“Noted,” Gavin said. “The others have started engaging on the first two floors. Most of the building’s security should be focused there now.”

Keeping low, the two of them headed for the closed door. The offices they passed _did_ have windows, inky with shadows, and they kept their heads below those windows just in case. They did peek over the edge and glanced inside, but they didn’t notice anything glaringly out of place. Soon, they were in front of the backlit door, and Ryan realized it was metal. This door was definitely blocking something. Why else would a random office door be metal?

Maybe whoever owned this office had a CEO with… _interesting_ tastes.

They stood up straight again. Ryan stiffened, his jaw clenching, and he couldn’t force himself to relax. This felt wrong. He felt like he shouldn’t be here. This darkness was making him itch, and this door seemed to loom in his vision. They should leave. They should give this up and leave.

Before he could say anything, Michael tried the handle and yanked the door open.

Light flooded the dark hall, and for a moment Ryan was blind. He blinked rapidly, trying to scan the new room as his eyes adjusted. It was empty of both person and furniture, except…

“Fuck,” Michael breathed. “Gav, we don’t have the fucking equipment for this. That little contraption you gave me won’t lift _this_.”

“You found it!?”

The room was white with a ceramic tile floor and had only one door. Though Jon had described the machine to Ryan, he was still somehow surprised by its size. It nearly filled the opposite wall completely, though it was just barely short enough to fit through the door.

It was a remarkably simple machine in terms of design. It was like a large metal box, though relatively narrow in depth. A control panel was on the right edge, sticking out of the machine. A large blank screen was top center, with two smaller screens at opposite sides—one of which was right above the control panel. The middle of the machine had a hole like a circle cut in half and pulled apart like a rounded cylinder. It was set in a larger circle depressed in the machine with lines that made Ryan think it would expand and contract by rotating and sliding metal triangular plates.

“Why is this unguarded…?” Ryan muttered.

“Look,” Michael said, pointing to the bottom of the machine. “It’s already on a wooden platform thing. Lifts it up a little from the floor.”

“That’s probably how they move it,” Gavin said. “That means the tool to move it is probably around somewhere. Keep the room secure; I’ll send Jack and Lindsay up. Just hang tight.”

“Sweet,” said Michael. Ryan glanced back into the hallway. From the lightened room, it seemed like the dark hallway was deserted. He knew he should probably be figuring out how to convince Michael to use the machine, but he couldn’t relax.

Michael apparently had no qualms. He shrugged off his duffel bag and let it fall to the floor with a heavy clink. He approached the machine’s control panel, which had a keyboard extending out from it at a slope with a pamphlet resting on top.

“This thing reads magic ability, right?” Michael asked. He leaned his gun against the machine and picked up the pamphlet. He flipped it open, scanning its contents.

“…Yes,” Ryan answered, eyeing Michael. Michael turned to him and held up the pamphlet.

“This is some sort of quick-start guide,” he said, grinning. “We’ve got some time before Jack and Lindsay show up.”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying you want to use it?” Surely it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Fuck yeah, dude!” Michael said. He took a step closer to Ryan and flicked his wrist, making the pamphlet flap. “I’m glad Geoff chose me to join you, because fuck, dude, I really want to try this thing.”

Ryan blinked. It really was this easy. “Why?” Ryan asked. “You don’t know what…”

Michael shoved the pamphlet at Ryan, and Ryan had to briefly juggle his gun to snatch the paper. He had a gleam in his brown eyes as he held Ryan’s gaze.

 “We _know_ what it does,” Michael insisted. “Listen, Rye—Vagabond, whatever.” His tone shifted suddenly—was he _pleading?_ “I feel like I have all this fucking magic inside me. I have for years, but I feel like I just can’t _fucking access it._ It comes out as fucking shields and deflections, but I can’t _make_ it do that.”

Ryan rolled his shoulders. “So what do you hope to gain from using this machine?”

“I wanna see how powerful I really am,” Michael said simply. “You don’t know what it’s like, dude. I feel like I hit a fucking brick wall every time I try to do something cool or learn a spell. And believe me, I’ve had _plenty_ of teachers. Jack, Meg, Ray, Jeremy—do you know how much it fucking sucks to disappoint them with how much you fail, but they’re so nice about it? ‘Oh it’s okay, Michael, you’ll get the hang of it one day!’ _Fuck._ I just want to know if I _can._ ”

Ryan didn’t respond at first, but he finally looked at the pamphlet. Michael had stated before how he wished he could do more with his magic, but Ryan had never realized the full extent of these feelings. Michael had always seemed so… _comfortable_ in himself and in what he could do. But now that they were here, and he had the chance to get a full examination of his power… Ryan still wasn’t sure _exactly_ what Michael hoped to gain, but it seemed they both wanted him to use the machine. So why look a gift horse in the mouth?

“Alright,” Ryan agreed finally. He skimmed the pamphlet and its IKEA-style pictographic instructions. “So it looks like you gotta stick your hand in that hole there. I think there’s a handle inside you can grab? And then I turn it on, and…”

Ryan went to the panel as Michael peered into the hole before sticking his hand in it. The whole was at a height where Michael could simply bend his elbow without needing to lean down much. Almost his entire forearm disappeared into it.

The control panel was thankfully simple. Ryan jabbed the green power button in the upper left corner, and the machine whirred to life. Then he hit the red button at the bottom below the keyboard labeled “auto-scan,” which was right next to a white button labeled “abort.” There were some other dials next to the keyboard, but the pamphlet only showed how to quickly run a basic scan and how to abort one.

The machine hummed. The monitors all switched on, but remained showing a black screen. The cylindrical hole shrank back to a circle, and the larger circle’s metal plates slid over each other to fit snugly around Michael’s arm.

“Woah,” said Michael, grinning. “Spooky.”

“If you want me to stop it…”

“Fuck no.”

The air filled with static, and the hair on Ryan’s arms stood straight up. Michael’s fluffy curls lifted from his forehead, waving as though a gentle breeze was ruffling them. The machine’s hum grew louder, and Michael started to laugh. There was a wild glint in his eyes when he looked at Ryan.

“This is amazing!” he exclaimed. “I can feel it pulling magic right through me!”

Ryan didn’t know what that meant. He swallowed hard and looked at the monitor, which was flashing colors now. It cycled through deep desaturated reds, browns, blues, greens… getting brighter and lighter as time passed. For how long was this supposed to go?

As if to answer his question, the monitors stopped flashing, settling on a warm cinnamon brown. It then displayed a hex code over that color, as well as text that read “protection, defensive.” The whole process had taken maybe thirty seconds. And that color—those words—meant Michael wasn’t the angel. Ryan couldn’t say he was surprised at this point.

The machine quieted to a hum not any louder than a powered desktop computer, and it released Michael’s arm with a little beep. Michael rubbed his forearm, a wide smile plastered on his face. Ryan resisted the urge to shiver as the static feeling in the air disappeared.

“That was fucking weird and awesome,” Michael said, breathless as though he had just run laps. “What does that mean? Tell me!”

“Uhh…” Ryan flipped to the last page in the pamphlet. “It says here that the brighter and paler the color—the closer to white—the stronger you are. There’s a note saying to reference a manual with the code it gives us, but yeah. And then the category it puts you in is what kind of spells would come more naturally to you.”

“Hmm…” Michael stared up at the large monitor, still rubbing his arm. “Thought it’d be a little lighter, but…” He grinned again, flexing his fingers so his hand curled and uncurled into a fist. “Dude, I think I finally know what it feels like to…”

The lights in the hallway turned on.

Ryan spun around to face the door as Michael lunged for his gun. But the gun flew away from his fingertips and hurled itself across the room. Ryan let the pamphlet slip from his fingers as he gripped his own gun with both hands, and he watched the gun soar over to Peake from Funhaus. Peake caught it and tossed it aside.

Five people sauntered through the door. James was at the group’s head, hand outstretched. Peake and Elyse flanked him, then Bruce and Adam brought up the rear. Each of them was outfitted in a bulletproof vest with an orange patch on it. Ryan tried to raise his gun, but it felt like a heavy hand was pushing down on it. Both he and Michael froze, staring at their new company as they fanned out.

“Well, well,” James said. “Look who decided to show up.”

Michael opened his mouth, hand going to his earpiece, but Peake shook his head. Michael’s mouth moved, but no noise came out. Ryan could feel the magic in the air.

“Looks like Spoole was right,” Elyse said with a wicked grin. “They came straight here.”

Adam cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck. “Let’s just get this done with,” he sighed. “Hurry up and deal with your little rivalry before any backup comes.”

Adam and Peake split from the other three to face off against Michael. Before Ryan could even think about joining up with Michael, Elyse charged. Ryan instinctively squeezed the trigger on his gun, the bullets striking the ground with the sound of thunder and cracking ceramic. Bruce was the only one that flinched—Elyse didn’t miss a step. Ryan let go of his gun, but it was too little too late. As it flung itself to the floor and skittered across the broken tile, Elyse leapt and tackled him.

Ryan stumbled under her weight. He spun and heaved forward, trying to use her momentum against her and swing her off, but then Bruce’s knee swung up to meet him. It nailed him below the bulletproof vest, and Ryan gasped. Elyse looked her arms around his neck and dragged him down to his knees.

“No guns in this room allowed,” James said, watching Bruce and Elyse tag team Ryan. “Wouldn’t want to damage our new friend’s tech.”

Elyse went for Ryan’s mask, her nails digging into the flesh under his jaw. He rolled and finally managed to shove her off. He kicked at her and managed to get back to his hands and knees before a foot swung into view and smashed into his head. He saw stars. His arms buckled and he ducked, covering his head with his arms. He couldn’t hear the skirmish surely happening between Michael and the other two. It seemed Peake had sound-related powers…?

He felt the telekinetic magic curl around his wrists, and before he could even think to fight it, they were ripped back and he was flung across the floor. He skidded over the tile. His back smashed into the wall. Wheezing, he pushed himself up pressing his back into the wall for support as one hand went to his pocket. When Bruce came near, crouched in front of him and curled his fingers around the edge of the mask, Ryan waited. Took a moment to regain his bearings, his balance, his breath.

Michael was struggling against Peake and Adam. His face was red as he shouted, but no sound reached Ryan’s ears. He swung his elbow into Adam’s stomach only for Peake to hit him across the temple. The two-versus-one scenario was not going in Michael’s favor, even with his magic dulling most of the hits.

Then the mask was ripped off Ryan’s face, revealing his face paint and ripping the earpiece from his ear. He glared right at Bruce and slashed with his knife. Bruce hissed and jerked back, mask still in hand, as the skin on his arm split red. Ryan had a moment—just a moment—to recover. He staggered to his feet, his head spinning. He was still near the machine to his right. He had a death grip on his knife, and he tried desperately to loosen it. But his fingers wouldn’t budge, not with how his heart was racing and his head was pounding. There was no way he would throw this knife.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” James cried from his position a pace or two away, letting Elyse and Bruce do most of the fighting for him. He pressed a hand against his side—where Ryan had stabbed him at the bank. Was that why he wasn’t really fighting? “More face paint!”

Elyse darted forward, and Ryan swung his knife. She jerked back, but Bruce was already coming for Ryan’s other side. He ducked under the incoming punch, spinning back around to swipe the knife at Bruce’s chest. Bruce couldn’t quite move fast enough, but the knife only grazed his vest.

Elyse grabbed the collar of Ryan’s jacket and heaved. Ryan stumbled forward, and Elyse let him go only for James’s hand to grip his wrist—the one holding the knife. Ryan bit the inside of his cheek as sharp pain lacerated through the joint. His hand trembled, but he did not drop the knife. James grabbed his chin with his other hand, dragging his thumb over the edge of his face paint.

“It’s not even magic,” James snarled. “Nothing to dispel. You fucker.”

Ryan glared and bared his teeth. His knuckles hurt with how hard he held the knife, but it was like they were locked into position. He felt a bead of sweat roll from his temple.

“Let’s drop that pesky knife, shall we?” James taunted.

Ryan glanced past James just in time to see Michael hit the opposite wall and collapse against it. Adam stepped on his chest as though to hold him down, but Michael didn’t make any effort to shove him off. He seemed to be groaning, though.

Then James swung Ryan around, effortless as Ryan staggered to stay on his feet. His back slammed into metal, and he heard the echo of the machine behind him. James held him there by his wrist and his throat. Bruce went to the control panel, but Ryan didn’t see what he did next as James pulled back Ryan’s hand and smashed it against the machine. Ryan yelped and flinched as white hot pain shot through the bone.

James laughed. “I don’t think I’ve heard you scream before!” His voice lowered, his eyes wide and wild and terrifyingly blue. “Drop the knife.”

Ryan met his gaze, eyes watering but still glaring defiantly.

James sighed and rolled his eyes. He released Ryan’s throat, but then his hand darted to his hair, and this time it was Ryan’s skull that cracked against the machine. White stars flashed across his vision, and he heard the distinct clatter of a metal knife hitting a ceramic tile floor. Something hit the back of his knees and his kneecaps met the floor. James released him and took a step back. Ryan felt the tickle of telekinesis around his whole arm, and he lurched forward.

Metal clamped around his whole forearm. Ryan pressed his free hand against the machine and pushed. His arm was trapped in the machine, and there was no way to get it out on his own.

Real panic quickly replaced the adrenaline of the fight. He struggled to breathe right, gasping short and quick as his head started to spin. The nerves in his trapped arm buzzed as though falling asleep.

“ _Michael!_ ” a voice shrilled. Ryan glanced over his shoulder—Lindsay and Jack were sprinting down the hallway. James flung out his hand, and the door slammed shut, effectively separating them.

“What shall we do with him now?” Bruce asked, stepping away from the control panel.

“I say we cut his throat and let his friends watch,” Elyse said.

“I’d rather hear him scream more,” James said.

Ryan rested his forehead against the cool metal. The machine rumbled beneath him, purring back to life. Someone thumped on the door from the other side, but it remained shut. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to catch his breath. How was he going to get out of this? _Would_ he get out of this?

The purring of the machine grew louder and static once more filled the air. He wasn’t magic, so the machine wouldn’t do anything—right?

A thrill ran through Ryan, down his spine and down his arms. He shivered. The thrill didn’t vanish—his heart leapt and his stomach did an excited flip. Like he was climbing a roller coaster and waiting for the drop. The hair sticking to his forehead lifted away.

“Hey, James, look,” Bruce said. “The machine…”

They paused. Ryan opened his eyes and craned his neck. The monitors had all turned on, and they were rapidly cycling through different, dark colors. Ryan’s free fingers curled against the smooth metal surface. He couldn’t squash down the excitement flowing through him—even with mixed with dread. Terrible, poisonous dread.

 _No_. This wasn’t excitement. This wasn’t adrenaline.

“Well, well!” James cried. “And here we assumed he was a Reg!”

His dizziness increased tenfold. He hung his head, groaned as his hair and clothes tugged as though by a wind. “No, no… please…”

This couldn’t be. He couldn’t be an Aug! He _wasn’t!_ Perhaps he had, at times, _suspected_ , but he had never felt anything like this. Not that he could remember!

Ryan flinched. His skin turned hot. The colors flashing across the monitors steadily grew brighter, lighter, closer to white. This hurt. This _really_ hurt.

Funhaus grew quiet. Ryan risked another peek over his shoulder, and saw that their eyes were glued to the monitors. He was forced to look away as pain jolted down his spine, making him convulse. He gasped—another flare of pain felt like someone drew a hot iron down his back.

 _Whatever!_ Okay! He was an Aug! He supposed he could accept that. This could stop now. He would really, really like this sensation to end. The magic didn’t stop flowing through him, dragging through his body like molten lead. He pounded his free fist against the machine, tried to pull his trapped arm out so hard his shoulder ached in resistance. _He admitted it_. He was fucking channeling magic! There!

_So why wasn’t it satisfied?_

“Get me out!” he shrieked. “Please! Let me go! I’m begging you!”

Funhaus backed away. Their eyes wide, faces pale and reflected the light colors still cycling through the monitors. The machine growled loud, rattled and hissed, pulled more and more magic through Ryan’s body. Black smoke began to leak from the corners. If Funhaus left the room now, they would run into the Fakes as well. If not here, then further into the building.

Trapped.

All of Ryan’s nerve endings ignited, and he tipped his head back and screamed.


	22. In Which Ryan Suffers From Some Flashbacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no self control!!!!! I'm updating three days after the last update!!!!!!!!!

Time passed in a collage of senses with no observable linear pattern. He remembered smoke, black and oily and billowing. Choking, suffocating. He remembered pain, hot, heat in his brain. He remembered hands, pulling, carrying, and some of them burned and some of them cooled. He remembered voices, talking over him, talking about him.

“We should put him in the null room—”

“No, it won’t help! It’s a bad _reaction_.”

His screams shredded the inside of his throat but he couldn’t stop. His vision faded in and out. First it was Gavin over him, and a roof of a car. Rumbling beneath him. Then he saw himself at the warehouse, a haze of magic surrounding him as he gunned down drug dealers, laughing, enemy bullets warping around him and narrowly missing him.

“Since when did _you_ become an expert…”

“He needs to bloody ride it out! He just vented a shit ton more magic than it could handle. Just get him somewhere safe!”

Vented. Cleared it out like a blocked pipe by setting fire to it, by dissolving it from the inside out. Jeremy was above him, lifting him, the night sky faded pale by city lights. Then he saw himself at his apartment, hunched over his desk, watching a small potted plant levitate. A spell he copied, a spell he stole.

Several of the Fakes leaned into his vision, as he lay on something soft, a ceiling fan whirring lazily above him. They spoke to him, but he could not hear. Someone was screaming in his ear, and he could not understand what they said. Then he saw himself as a child, a toddler, before he even got to school, trying to show his mother how he made a flower bloom. She got mad, got scared, and he had forgotten. Locked it away. He never touched it again.

Ray leaned over him, hands reaching to hold his head still. It was fire, fire against his skin. A wave of nausea twisted his stomach, soured his throat, forced its way out his mouth.  Ray withdrew, jumped back and disappeared, and Ryan cried.

Geoff appeared. More hands, but no nausea. Just sobbing, just bright blue eyes above him. Just lava in his veins and lightning in his brain. He twitched and writhed. How long? How long? He wished he could pass out. Wished for blank darkness. How long? He begged. He did not know what he said, could not even hear himself for the pain ringing in his ears. He had to shout it. Fight through convulsions wracking his body. White filmed over his vision. He begged. How long?

“Try again.”

“But last time I…”

“You can do it, Ray. Try another spell. Please.”

Hands touched his face again, and he flinched. But it was like someone had opened a window. Wind could flow, did flow. HE could gasp for breath, choke down the screams as the wind seeped the fire away. Smaller, smaller flames. The white in his vision faded until he could see Ray again, blurry through tears.

The pain faded. Whiffed out, replaced by cool air and sticky sweat, replaced by streaks of tears and a kind thumb wiping them away. Ryan panted and lay still. How nice it was to be still.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and quietly he slipped away into the blank darkness he had previously wished for.

* * *

 

Ryan drifted in and out of dream-like memories. Dreams of others using magic on or near him, and of him absorbing the technique—learning from them. Lindsay’s luck he learned, used it in the warehouse and encouraged the enemies to miss and jammed the minigun. James’s telekinesis was familiar—he broke it, used it for himself. It wasn’t difficult, just needed some concentration. He practiced it on his houseplants. Michael’s passive shield proved useful. Magic swirled around him. He felt invincible.

Used spells to make himself forget. Tucked the memories away, bundled them up and stored them for later. For now.

He slipped further into his slumber. Slipped into a memory from two years ago.

 _The infant giggled at Ryan as the mother wiped away the snot and tears._ Ryan grinned back. The mother was in full bustle mode, complete with frequent exhausted sighs. She started gathering her things from the park bench, shoving various toys into a tote bag.

“Bless you for making her laugh,” said the mother. She didn’t smile, but her gratitude was plain in her voice and in her drooping eyes. She juggled her baby, her purse, and tote bag as she arranged them all in her arms. “I swear—you must be one of the few good people left in this city.”

Ryan chuckled and shrugged, averting his gaze. The park was relatively busy during his lunch break, but the immediate area was fairly clear of people. The bench was partially shaded by a tree behind it, and sat a pace or two back from the asphalt path. More trees dotted the expanse of deep green grass, which in turn was sprinkled with wildflowers. Los Santos might be a shitty city overall, but its park was a clean spot in its blight.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, his hands fiddling with his lunch bag. “You have a lovely child.”

The mother flashed him a grin and stood off. “Buh-bye, now,” she said. “Have a nice day.”

Ryan waved his farewell. When she was gone, he finally opened his lunch bag and pulled out his sandwich. He’d gotten distracted by the upset baby, but now his stomach yearned for sweet sustenance. He had just raised the sandwich for a bite when a new voice distracted him.

“That was nice of you, cheering up that baby.”

“Huh?” He couldn’t place where the voice was coming from. He looked all around, but no one appeared to be speaking to him. No one was even nearby.

“Up here.”

Ryan tilted his head back to peer up into the tree. Lounging on one of its branches was a young man in a purple hoodie and thick black hair. He lay back like the branch was a bed, his hands jammed in his sweatshirt’s pockets and one ankle crossed over the other knee. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed a grin at Ryan. Ryan’s face felt hot.

“Oh god, you saw that?”

“I’m pretty observant.”

The young man rolled out of the tree, dropping to the ground lithely in a manner that Ryan compared to a panther. The stranger hopped over the back of the bench and slid into the spot next to Ryan.

“Come here often?” asked the stranger, readjusting his thick-rimmed glasses.

“Uh… yeah,” said Ryan. “It’s a good place to spend my lunch breaks.”

“Oh really? Where do you work?”

“In that building. Over there.” Ryan pointed to a skyscraper just barely visible through the trees. “What about you?”

“Oh, I—get by on odd jobs.” The man shrugged, smiling lazily. “I’m Ray, by the way.”

“I’m Ryan.”

*  *  *

Two days later, Ryan was back at the park, on that same bench. There weren’t any crying babies this time, and he was looking forward to eating his lunch in peace and enjoying the warm sunlight. Again, right as he was about to take a bite of his sandwich, a voice from above halted him.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”

Ryan looked up into the tree to see the same purple hoodie. “I had a meeting—you don’t, um, live up there, do you?”

Ray laughed. “No, god no. I’m not fucking homeless—this is the best tree to climb in this park.”

“You’re like a cat,” Ryan said.

“A cat that can get down,” Ray said as he jumped out of the tree and joined Ryan on the bench. “Missed you yesterday.”

“Ooh, sorry,” Ryan said. “I’ll remember our date next time, I promise.”

Ray tossed back his head and laughed, and Ryan found it a delightful sound. He decided this stranger wasn’t so bad. But as Ryan watched Ray’s face, he saw something sad creep back in, something that stole his laughter and deadened his smile.

“So if you don’t live there,” Ryan said lightly, but in a quiet cautious voice, “then what brings you to this park so often?”

Ray exhaled and stared straight ahead. “I needed some time alone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ryan said, shoving his sandwich back into its bag. “I’ll…”

“No, no! You’re fine. I just wanted to get away from my… my friends, for a little while.”

“Ah.” Ryan scratched at his short beard, even as Ray managed to smile at him again. “Sounds like you had a… disagreement.”

“You could say that.”

Ryan sniffed and let it drop. This was way too personal for a second meeting, but he had decided he liked this kid, and he yearned to cheer him up. “Do you like video games?” he asked.

Ray snorted. “Boy, do I.”

A smile creeped across Ryan’s face. “I know of a cool arcade not too far from here. When I get off work later, we could go hang out there.”

“Yeah, man!” Ray said eagerly. Ryan couldn’t stop grinning as Ray’s face brightened again. “That sounds like a great idea.”

*  *  *

The arcade game ended in a series of gruesome, tuneful beeps. “FATALITY” displayed across the screen in jagged, bloody letters. Ryan groaned and flicked the joystick.

“Damn, and I thought I was good at this one!” he complained. Ray laughed.

“You _are_ good!” Ray insisted, beaming. “I’m just better,” he added mischievously.

Ryan huffed. “Are you sure you’re not an Aug using magic to cheat?” he asked lightly.

Ray snorted. “Of course not! Even if I was, I wouldn’t need magic to beat you.”

“Oh, you little…”

Ray laughed again, and Ryan couldn’t help but smile. It was an infectious, unique laugh. He glanced around the arcade, hunting for a new game to play. The arcade was the type where you paid a fifteen dollar entry fee, then all the machines were free to play. It was packed with arcade games, forming aisles with the arranged machines. It was dim, and warm despite the air conditioner blowing overhead.

“It looks like that racing game is finally open,” Ryan said, pointing. “Bet I could beat you in that!”

Ray quirked and eyebrow. “You could definitely _try!_ ”

“You said you can’t drive,” Ryan said as they headed for the two plastic racing chairs. “Clearly I have the advantage!”

“I can’t drive a _real life_ car,” Ray argued. “But I guess I’ll just have to _prove_ how that doesn’t translate to video games,” he added with a dramatic sigh. Ryan chuckled.

They raced. The controls were janky, and both of them swerved all over the virtual racetrack, twisting the tiny plastic steering wheel left and right and left again. It was a close match, but Ryan just barely beat him out for fifth place. There was much screaming.

They hung out for the rest of the night, only leaving the arcade briefly to grab dinner at a fast food place down the block. When Ryan grew tired, it was only because it was late, and not because he had been socializing. So it was only when they were both yawning that he suggested separating for the evening.

“If you give me your number,” Ryan said, “You can contact me easier. Then we can hang out more, if you want.”

“Oh, uh…” Ray hesitated. “I forgot my phone, and I don’t remember my number. Why don’t you, um… Here, write down your number, and I’ll text you later.”

He handed Ryan his receipt from the arcade, and they found a pen at the arcade’s front desk. Ryan scribbled his number down and handed the scrap of paper back. Ray stared at the number as though he had never seen anything like it before. He rubbed his thumb over the last digit, smearing the ink. Then he looked back at Ryan, grinning so brightly that Ryan’s heart felt lighter.

“Thanks, man!” said Ray. “Thanks a lot!”

*  *  *

“I made a new friend the other day,” Ryan told Jon as they got lunch at one of Jon’s favorite cafés. He took a sip of his Diet Coke, glad for the gentle breeze that cooled the warm shade he sat in. Their food had yet to come, so they just enjoyed the weather from their outdoor table for now.

“Oh?” Jon prompted, leaning forward onto the table, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Do share! Where did you meet? Work?”

“Nope,” Ryan said. “I was having my lunch in the park near the office, and he was actually in a tree! He noticed me cheer up someone’s baby, and he hopped down to greet me later.”

“He sounds cute,” Jon said. He got a mischievous glint in his eye. “Is he cute?”

Ryan’s face turned hot, and he _knew_ Jon saw the pink rise to his cheeks. “I mean—I guess!? He’s met me at the park a couple times now, and the other day we went to the arcade after work.”

“Spontaneous! Nice,” Jon said. “We haven’t gone to an arcade in a while. We should go!”

“We should,” Ryan agreed. He felt a little guilty about that. He tried to make time for Jon and his other friends, but recently he would often get home from work so drained that he didn’t want to go out.

“Seems like you had a good time, though!” Jon said.

“I _did_ ,” Ryan said. He found himself smiling as he remembered the evening. “We click really well, actually. He teases a lot but he seems like a really nice guy, and he’s really easy to talk to. And…” Ryan frowned. “I think he’s really sad about something. I don’t know what, but it’s weighing on him.”

“Then you’re just a distraction?” Jon asked, tilting his head.

Ryan shrugged. “I’m happy to play the distraction and be used if it means easing some of the pain he’s feeling,” he said. “I think he really needs me, if just for that.”

Jon hummed as he took a drink of his water through his straw. Then the corner of his mouth twitched up again. “He sounds cute,” he repeated.

Ryan winced, his cheeks warming again. “ _Jon!_ ”

* * *

  

His eyes fluttered open. The room was dark, no light except for the ambient street lamps ghosting through the semi-sheer curtains. There was a weight on his left hand, unmoving but warm. Slowly, without dislodging the weight, he sat up.

His whole body ached, and his right wrist throbbed dully from under a plastic brace. He huffed, feeling his tired muscles quiver as he tried to use them. His lips mouth was dry and his lips chapped, and his stomach felt hollow. He tried to moan, but stopped when his vocal chords grated against his throat like coarse sand paper.

The hand on his was Ray’s, who had pulled a chair next to the bed and had folded forward to fall asleep, his head resting on the mattress. They were in the room with the two purple twin beds, but Jeremy’s bed was empty. Folding chairs and desk chairs alike were scattered near Ryan’s bed like an audience of ghosts.

“What do you remember?”

Ryan looked around. He wasn’t actually sure if he had heard the voice or if he had just imagined it, but then Geoff stepped out of the shadows swathing the nearest corner of the room. Geoff sat on the edge of the bed, on the opposite side from Ray. His blue eyes practically glowed in the dim light from the window.

Ryan touched his throat and shook his head.

“I see,” Geoff said. “I’ll stick to yes/no questions. Do you remember _anything_ about the party and the machine?”

Ryan nodded.

“Do you remember Funhaus trapping you in the machine?”

Nod.

“Do you remember the machine short-circuting?”

Hesitation.

Nod.

“Do you remember what the screens said just before that?”

Ryan shook his head.

“Do you remember what happened to Funhaus?”

He did not.

“Do you remember what happened after the machine broke?”

Shrug.

“Do you remember screaming? Were you in pain?”

Yes. Yes.

“Do you remember being carried back to Meg’s house?”

Kind of. Nod and shrug.

“I see. A bit foggy. But you know it happened.”

Nod. Yes.

Geoff sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Do you know that you’re an Aug now?”

Yes.

“Do you know how powerful you are?”

No answer. Ryan shivered.

Geoff watched the wall as he spoke next. “We had a brief scuffle with Funhaus, but they slipped away in the smoke and the confusion, and we decided it was more important to take care of you and Michael. He’s fine by the way. You’ve been out of commission for a while though.”

Ryan stared at Geoff. Geoff glanced back and caught the stare. He sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“The screens were a pale magenta,” he said. “The text that should have said what you’re good at was just an error message. You’re strong, and unfocused—but not all powerful. I think the angel we’re looking for would have been pure white, but you had distinct color.” He paused to look over at the sleeping Ray, and his voice dropped even quieter. “I don’t think you’re the one we’re looking for. Funhaus was looking for the angel before you even showed up at our apartment. But you’ve shown me something important.”

Ryan shrugged. Geoff held his gaze for a while, as though searching Ryan’s eyes for something.

“You’ve shown me that there’s a chance the angel might not be lying at all. Not on purpose. You had no idea you were an Aug—it’s possible the angel has no idea about the extent of their power. But… if the angel is unknown even to themselves, and the machine is broken… How do we find the angel before Funhaus? How do we stop this game of cat and mouse? They have a way to track it, and we don’t even _know_.”

Ryan shook his head. He didn’t know. No one did.

Geoff sighed again and patted Ryan on the shoulder. “Rest up,” he said, standing. “I’ll get Jack to make you something for your throat. We’ll discuss our options later, when you can actually talk.”

The sound of the closing door woke up Ray, who squirmed and gave Ryan’s hand a gentle squeeze before sitting up. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before looking over at Ryan.

“You’re up,” he said.

Ryan nodded. He touched his throat again and gave Ray a pained look. Ray’s eyebrows knitted together, and he bit his lip.

“I guess you did wreck your throat,” Ray said. He reached for Ryan’s hand again, but only lightly touched it. As if hesitant, uncertain. Ryan felt the tremble of fingers across the back of his hand, before Ray withdrew again.

“I…” Ray sucked a breath through his teeth. His voice wavered. “I thought I was going to lose you. And—and there was nothing I could do.”

On the last word, Ray broke down. He hid his face in his hands and stopped talking, obviously trying to hold back tears. Ryan reached out to touch his shoulder but paused, suddenly unsure.

“If you had died,” Ray said, his voice strained and cracking, “then your last memories of me would have been me pushing you away. I’m sorry, Ryan. I don’t—I didn’t…”

His words ended in a squeak and he hunched over, his sobs gasping through his fingers as his whole frame shook. An ache settled deep in Ryan’s heart.

“I shouldn’t h-have pushed you away!” Ray choked. “I sh-shouldn’t have run away! I-I’m s-s-sorry!”

There was a light knock at the door, and Jack entered carrying a tray with a large glass of water, a mug of steaming tea, and a plate of saltine crackers. He glanced at Ray, who was making himself as small and quiet as possible, but he politely ignored the crying man as he set the try on the bedside table.

“Drink the water first,” Jack said. “Sip it and nibble on the crackers and give your stomach a chance to wake up too. The tea should help your throat feel better.

Ryan smiled and nodded his thanks. Jack hesitated as though he wanted to say something. He glanced at Ray again and shook his head. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Jack left, closing the door behind him. Ryan reached for the water and slowly sipped it down, cooling the dryness on his lips and tongue. It hurt to swallow, but it was a net positive gain to drink the water. He let Ray have the time to recover himself, and when he finished the water he reached for the tea. Jack had mixed honey into it, and it _did_ feel soothing on his throat.

Ray sniffed, wiping his face on his hoodie sleeves, and straightened in his chair. He wiped furiously at his eyes with his fingers, though fresh tears still spilled over his cheeks. He took a few deep breaths.

“I want to explain my behavior,” he said. His voice still shook on certain words, but he swallowed and met Ryan’s gaze steadily. “It would be better if you could talk, too, but… I’ve waited long enough. Is this fine?”

Ryan nodded. Anything. Of course. He was done waiting too.

Ray forced a laugh and glanced away. “Maybe it’s easier this way anyway.”

Ryan bit his lip and set his tea back on the bedside table. He held out his hand, flipped it palm up and let it lay obviously on the bed. Ray clenched his hands into fists, briefly, then reached out with a shaking hand and tentatively slid his fingers over Ryan’s hand.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Ray started, and Ryan gave his hand a squeeze. “Michael and I used to—be a thing. But we broke it off about two years ago. It—it was for the best, because we… wanted different things out of the relationship.”

Ray took his hand back and hunched his shoulders, staring at his lap. Even with just the light from the street lamps, Ryan could see how blotchy and flushed Ray’s face was.

“Everyone always tells me that a romance needs sex to survive,” he admitted. It sounded like the words were fighting against him, and he could only speak due to tremendous effort. “That it is a necessary part of a relationship, or else it’ll die. But I—I don’t _want_ it. Ryan, I don’t ever want it? I don’t find things _sexy_ , I don’t ever… _feel_ that way about people. But I _tried_. Ryan, I _tried_ for Michael. But I didn’t want it, and it—put a strain on us. So we separated. He—he says it was mutual, but it was my fault, Ryan. I was the reason we couldn’t fucking work. I didn’t want to put that on you, too. No one deserves to have to deal with a relationship doomed to die from the start.”

Ray snorted a laugh, as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Tears spilled over his cheek again with renewed fervor, and he hid his eyes with a hand. Ryan gripped the sheets with white knuckles. He craved to comfort Ray, but he forced himself to be still.

“I don’t—I don’t want to put that on you, too,” he repeated. “I didn’t want you to sign up to be with a broken man. Because I can’t change that about me. I _tried_ , but I can’t. But _dammit_ , Ryan. I really _like_ you. I feel like I fall in love so _rarely_ , and when I realized I might like you, and then I might have to deal with… with _everything_ again. I didn’t know how to deal with those feelings, so I ran away from them. I… needed time to process it. I didn’t want a repeat of Michael. I didn’t want to force you to not get the most out of a relationship. I thought maybe if I stayed away, I could squash my feelings. I could come back and let you down sooner rather than later and you could get over me faster. But I just… I _couldn’t_.

“So I’m just laying it out now. Because _fuck_. I want to try, Ryan. I—I want to _try_. I want to love you. It—it just—it requires physical boundaries. So I—after saying all this, I just want to know _now_ if I should hope, or if you don’t want to bother.”

Ryan was stunned. He took a moment to sit back and consider Ray and consider what he had expected a potential relationship to be like. He had assumed, of course, that a relationship would lead to sex—that’s how it always is, right? When couples go to therapy, one of the things they always say is shit like “we don’t sleep together as much anymore.” Or at least, that’s what Ryan had always assumed.

The last thing Ryan wanted, however, was for Ray to be unhappy. So he considered it. He considered relationships. He considered Ray as he hung his head and failed to stifle his sobs. He considered sex. Was it really that important? He considered the multitude of other ways people could be intimate and in love. Couples hung out together; gave each other gifts; protect and support each other; watch movies together; go to carnivals and ride Ferris Wheels together. Ryan was crushing on Ray long before he thought about banging. So he considered it.

“Uhhh,” Ryan croaked, trying to force the words out of his injured throat. He flinched. It was like he had swallowed a wire brush. “I-I…”

“Ryan,” Ray said tearfully. “Please—don’t hurt yourself more. You don’t have to reply now.”

“I,” Ryan pushed on. “Want… to… try…”

Ray blinked, his brow still knotted together as though he too were in physical pain. “You do? After all I told you? After saying I’ll never have sex with you? You want to try?”

Ryan nodded. He lifted his palm and made scribbling motions on it with his other hand’s index finger. He had more to say.

Ray seemed to understand the motion. He jumped for his phone, digging it out of his pocket to unlock it and hand it to Ryan with the note app open. Ryan typed furiously, the screen bright on his eyes.

_“I didn’t fall in love with you because you promised me sex. I didn’t start liking you because I hoped to bang. Like, ok, it would be NICE, but I fell in love because of who you ARE. A relationship isn’t based on pure physical components. There’s all this emotional shit there too that’s probably even more important. Sex doesn’t seem like a necessary component to me!!!! People go years without it and they’re just fine. Sex is only ONE way to be intimate with a partner and if you don’t want to do it then we won’t!!! I want to try. I want to be with you. I want to share a life with you, one way or another. So if you are willing to try, then I will be right there with you!!”_

Ryan handed Ray’s phone back with the message still displayed. He watched Ray read it through, one hand holding the phone and the other covering his mouth.

Then he turned off the phone’s screen, pocketed it, and hunched forward to hide his face in his hands. Ryan didn’t know what this meant. He hesitated, and reached out. Before he could touch Ray’s shoulder, however, Ray sat up again, pressed his palms into his thighs as he started at the bed. His brow was still wrinkled as though he was in pain, but he started to laugh in that stuttering way that mixed it with sobs.

Ryan cleared his throat, a motion that hurt way less than trying to talk to get Ray’s attention again. Ray glanced at him, his expression still a jumble of despair and joy.

“Ryan,” he said, his words bubbling with the mixed emotions. “I—think I love you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey remember the "asexual character" tag? Yeah.  
> Note: I've fiddled with the confession again xD so if you're rereading, it is very slightly different (and hopefully, better!).


	23. In Which Ryan Talks Like a Bullfrog

Ryan’s eyes fluttered open. Sunlight spilled through the window and filtered through swirling dust mites. The smell of fresh hot tea wafted from its spot on the bedside table, which meant Jack had been in here at some point recently. He knew he should sit up—maybe even get up from the bed—but he did not want to move for the body next to him.

After his confession last night, Ray had excused himself—mumbled something about a bathroom. He had been gone so long, Ryan suspected he left in order to wrangle his emotions and get them under control. When Ray had returned, it took just a couple awkward exchanges to encourage Ray to climb into the twin bed next to Ryan.

Now he still clung like a sailor sleeping on a small lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, curled into Ryan’s side. One of Ryan’s arms was trapped against Ray, but he used his other hand to gently stroke Ray’s arm, then brush his fingertips through Ray’s hair. Ray had abandoned his purple sweatshirt somewhere, and the threads of his t-shirt were soft under Ryan’s hand. Ray shifted under his touch with a small grunt. Ryan’s heart felt like it had picked up a pair of Daedalus’s wings and now was flying under the sun’s warmth.

Ryan rolled his head over to look at the tray, to watch the steam wisp up and away from two mugs of tea against a backdrop of dusty sunlight. One of the mugs was pink with a black curly mustache printed on it, and the other was floral, white decorated with watercolor roses. He _did_ feel a lot better than last night. His throat still hurt, but not quite as bad. Oh, and he was _definitely_ still starving, and there was a small plate next to the tea with an English muffin cut in half, smeared in peanut butter and topped with slices of banana. If he didn’t move a lot, though, he could ignore how desperately his body craved calories.

Ray shifted again, nuzzled his cheek against Ryan’s trapped arm.

“Did you really mean what you said last night?” Ray mumbled. His fingers curled against Ryan’s shirt. “You still want to date me?”

Ryan tilted his chin down and kissed the top of Ray’s head. Of course he did. This calm, perfect moment right here made everything worth it. Ray sighed, then pushed himself up so he was sitting on his knees. Ryan sat up as well, resting with his back against the headboard. Ray glanced at the tray on the bedside table.

“Looks like Jack brought us both tea,” Ray said. “He gave you Geoff’s mug.” He flashed a grin at Ryan. “Sometimes Jack likes buying us random gifts, and one year for Christmas he gave everyone a mug that reminded him of the person.”

 _How nice_ , Ryan thought. He wondered idly what sort of mug _he_ would receive, had he been around for that. He wondered if Jack got himself a mug too, or if the others got him one. He hated how his throat hurt. He wanted to ask all these random questions, but they didn’t seem important enough to ask for a writing instrument either.

He _did_ have a couple important ones though, and now that he was fully awake, he needed to know. He was sorry to change the subject, but he looked Ray in the eye, then stuck out his pinky and thumb and held it up to his ear to mime his phone.

“You want a phone?” Ray asked.

Ryan pointed to himself.

“ _Your_ phone?”

Ryan nodded.

Ray winced, pushing his hands into the mattress. “It uh… it got fucking fried, man. Yours and Michael’s got fucked up by the sheer amount of magic you put into the room. Gavin and some of the Shadows are trying to save what they can, but… yeah.”

Oh. Ryan frowned. He held up his palm and drew the letter J on it with his other pointer finger.

“Jon?” _Yes._ Ray swallowed and glanced away, looking over at the window. “Ryan, I—I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened to him. I took him outside, but when the machine exploded, I kind of… I wasn’t thinking. I ran back inside and left him out there. I don’t know what he would have seen or remembered after that, but I’m certain he’s fine. No one outside after the explosion ever got hurt. I even checked the police reports to be sure.”

Ryan bowed his head. Jon was probably worried sick about him, but at least he was safe. Ryan could deal with that aftermath later. Explain how his phone was broken… _and why he was near the explosion?_ Maybe the Fakes could help him come up with an excuse. Either way, he would deal with that later. When he had a phone and could talk. There was nothing he could do about it now, and Jon wouldn’t die from fretting. He just hoped Jon was getting good use out of his stolen data.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said again. “It was my one job and I fucked it up.”

Ryan looked up to see Ray staring at him again, and he shook his head and smiled. Ray’s face relaxed, but he still glanced shyly away.

“We should probably drink this tea,” Ray said finally. “Before it gets cold.”

Ryan spent the next couple days recuperating in his borrowed bed. For most of this period, he was asleep. It seemed that using that much magic in such a short amount of time had really drained him, and he had trouble staying alert for more than an hour at a time.

Ryan saw Ray the most during this time, of course, but he didn’t spend the night sleeping next to Ryan again. Otherwise, for nearly every waking moment, he was there, either chilling with a handheld game or with a laptop to watch movies together on. And they watched a _lot_ of movies, even though Ryan usually ended up dozing against Ray’s shoulder halfway through. Everyone else seemed content to hide away in the other parts of the house or wherever else they were. Ryan saw Jack the most frequently after Ray, though he never stayed for long. Geoff would occasionally pop in to see if Ryan could talk yet.

Around the time Ryan was starting to sound normal again—like he had swallowed a bullfrog, perhaps, but normal—Michael came to check on him. Ray had slipped out a few minutes earlier, so it was just the two of them. Michael grabbed one of the chairs and sat down next to the bed.

“Jack finally let me out of my room,” Michael said, grinning. “I was _totally_ fine, but between the two of us we definitely made him fucking worry.”

“Jack? Worry about me?” Ryan croaked. “I didn’t think he liked me that much.”

Michael shrugged. “He’s probably just cautious. He worries about everyone.”

Ryan didn’t reply to that and instead sipped the tea Jack kept bringing him. He had drank more tea in the past few days than he had in the last few years, but hey, if Jack kept putting in copious amounts of honey…

“But yeah, anyway,” Michael continued. “I wanted to say that even though your plan backfired _horribly_ that some good came out of it. I think—no, I _definitely_ understand my magic better. If I can _call_ it mine.”

Ryan raised his eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Michael confirmed. “Like, I always thought being an Aug meant I had something in me. Some source. But really I’m just, like… a fucking _vessel_. Magic goes _through_ me, you know? Fuck, I don’t know how to explain it. But no one else really understood me—being an Aug is just so natural to most of them. But you felt it too—you were in the machine too!”

Ryan nodded. He didn’t want to think about it, but he _did_ understand. He had read the theory not too long ago when he had taken his investigation to the library.

“We’re conduits,” he croaked. “Or so the theory says. That’s how the dead zones all work. They put a barrier between an Aug and the source of their magic.”

Michael winced. “God, you sound like fucking death, still. Are you sure you should be talking?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, and Michael snickered.

“But yeah!” Michael said. “Somehow I had this fucking… barrier between me and my magic. Some mental block or some bullshit like that that stopped me from using magic when I _wanted_ to.”

 _Mental block._ Ryan mused over that, taking the moment to sip his tea again. He must have had like, a mental fucking _blockade_ for all he knew about being an Aug.

“Where _is_ the source of magic, though?” Michael asked suddenly. “If it’s separate, where do we get it from?”

Ryan shrugged. “We’re just barely learning more about how Augs work,” he said. “Who the fuck knows?”

“I bet that CEO fuck knows,” Michael said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Or at least his researchers know. He funded that machine, and the machine knew what to do!”

“They might not know much more than us. Who knows,” Ryan said again.

“Ah, well, whatever,” Michael said. He grinned again. “Because check it out!”

He held his arm outstretched in front of him, fingers splayed as though reaching for something. Then, he slowly curled his fingers into a fist and twisted his arm in the same motion. Ryan could see the air shimmer a few inches above Michael’s arm.

“Try to hit my arm!” Michael said. “Do it!”

Ryan set his tea down first. He lifted his hand, and with a glance at Michael for a confirming nod, swung his open hand down on Michael’s arm. An invisible barrier stopped him short, webs of white energy sparking out and dissipating. Michael’s arm didn’t even budge with the force of Ryan’s strike.

Ryan whistled, taking his hand back. “Impressive.”

“Yeah!” Michael agreed, letting both his arm and the spell fall. “Meg and Jack are teaching me some basic spells too, like tracking spells and sensing shit. Have you tried to do anything yet?”

Ryan shivered and froze. He had not. He still had to sort through the memories he had forgotten but that had come back with full force when the machine blasted through his mental blockade. He just wasn’t sure how to feel about it all. Some part of him was used to being an Aug, and some part of him was still reeling. It was like he was leaning over the edge of a cliff and held back from falling only by a rope around his waist, and he was waiting either for someone to pull him back or for the rope to snap.

“Alright, I get it,” Michael said, and Ryan jumped. He hadn’t realized he had been zoning out. “Still need time to process it, huh?”

Mutely, Ryan nodded.

The door popped open suddenly, and Geoff poked his head in. “So you can talk now!” he said.

“Sort of,” said Ryan, and Geoff flinched.

“Oof, barely. I’ll come back later.”

“It’s fine!” Ryan croaked. “It sounds worse than it is.”

“Right…” Geoff cleared his throat and came in, leaving the door open. He grabbed a chair and sat down next to Michael.

“Do I need to leave?” Michael asked.

“You’re fine,” Geoff said, not even looking at Michael. “Ryan I’ve been doing some reading on your… condition. All the psychology and shit of repressed memories and the effects on Augs. I thought you might find that interesting.”

Ryan shrugged. “I guess, but I haven’t sorted through everything I remember yet…”

“No time like the present,” Geoff said, waving his hand. Michael crossed his arms and settled back into his chair. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Ryan pursed his lips. He knew he couldn’t put it off forever… “Sure. I guess.”

“So what I learned,” Geoff plowed on, “is that sometimes people can ‘forget’ traumatic events, especially when they were younger. Observational research shows that if that traumatic event is linked to the discovery of magic, the child might ‘lock down’ their powers and go about life as a Reg. Sometimes, especially in periods of stress, spells might accidentally happen around the person, but they don’t really realize it’s them.”

“If you’re hoping to unlock a tragic backstory,” Ryan growled, “I don’t have one.”

“Sure,” Geoff said smoothly. “But you’ve gone your whole life apparently not knowing you were this hugely powerful Aug. And apparently you wanted to keep it that way so fucking badly, you gave yourself amnesia when you were pressured into using magic—so you wouldn’t worry about the consequences of being an Aug later. Isn’t that right?”

Ryan tried to think, but his skin crawled, and he started to feel like he was floating. His recently unearthed memories flashed in front of his eyes. Geoff… had a point. He flipped his hand over and stared at his palm. He remembered the power coursing through him that night, so much power that it hurt. He remembered his mother screaming at him, fearful of the magic her little boy held in his hand. _Okay_ , he had thought. _So I won’t be one._

But he _was_ one. Magic coursed through him now, making his heart jump. A really powerful one. And he remembered. He knew hardly any spells of his own, but he saw the magic around him. He saw how others used it, wove spells, and he copied how they did it. He figured, if he didn’t remember it later, it would be as though it never happened. It would be as though he was still a Reg.

He’d been so young, but he had scared someone. He wasn’t like Michael. He hadn’t known what he could do. He shivered, clenched his hand into a fist. The air felt like static.

Geoff snapped his fingers, and Ryan jumped. “Don’t zone out on me,” Geoff said.

“Geoff,” Michael said slowly, leaning forward. Did he feel the static too?

“Sorry,” Ryan said. He laughed a dry laugh. His hair lifted from his forehead, and he trembled all over. Michael put a hand on Geoff’s shoulder. Geoff finally seemed to notice the effects of the magic. The static prickled over his skin, and his arm tensed up. “I think you’re right. And now I don’t know what to do with it.”

It was like he was back in the machine, but now the only one he could blame was himself when he couldn’t stop the flow of magic. Black, acrid smoke billowed out from somewhere, and he caught a glimpse of Michael yanking Geoff back before the smoke smothered Ryan’s vision. He couldn’t unclench his hands, couldn’t stop the power racing through him. He tilted his head back and laughed and cried. Wind ripped around him—orange heat flashed through the smoke—

The magic faded as fast as someone turning off a faucet. Ryan fell back to the mattress, all the energy seeping from his muscles—he hadn’t even realized he had been floating a few inches in the air. He groaned as the smoke dissipated. His heart pounded, but slowly it returned to a normal pace 

“ _Geoff!_ ” cried Ray, and suddenly he was there, rushing to the bedside and grabbing Ryan’s face, thumb stroking Ryan’s cheek. “What the fuck did you do?”

Ryan coughed, a puff of black smoke expelling from his mouth. He pushed against the mattress with shaking arms and forced himself up to a sitting position. Ray let him, moving his hands to Ryan’s shoulders. Small white flowers scattered over Ryan’s lap, and just as he noticed them, they dissolved into glittering dust which then, too, disappeared. He glanced over at Geoff. Michael was clutching him, surrounding them both with a shimmering spherical field, but Michael let it fall and moved back to his own seat when he saw Ryan looking.

“I didn’t do nothing!” Geoff claimed.

“Clearly not.” Ryan jumped again. He had not noticed Jack standing at the foot of his bed, and had not noticed the small blue lights placed carefully at the corners of the mattress.

“We were just _talking_ about his magic,” Geoff said, standing up to be eye level with Jack. “And then smoke just…”

Jack sighed loud enough to cut Geoff off. Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Ryan, what happened?” he asked.

“I…” Ryan tried to clear the bullfrog out of his throat with another cough. His head felt heavy. “I couldn’t control it. I don’t know what happened…”

“Right,” Jack said. He pointed at Ray. “Teach him how to control his fucking magic. Geoff, don’t fucking bring up the machine or whatever tragic past you think he has until then. Got it?”

“Yes, Jack,” Geoff and Ray said in unison.

“Are you good?” Jack asked Ryan. “Do you think this'll be a recurring problem or can I take the dead zone pieces back?”

Ray’s hands on his shoulders were a comfort, and he felt grounded again. It seemed silly to request the lights stay. He should be braver than that. Besides, as long as he didn’t get stressed out again, it wouldn’t happen again, right? Ryan swallowed and nodded. Jack walked around the bed and picked up the small metal discs, their blue lights going out as he picked them up. Ryan didn't notice the difference until the artificial dead zone was broken, but it was like he had a faint buzzing in the back of his mind that returned after being silenced. A comfortable buzzing, like the soft hum of a fan on a hot day. Something one wouldn't necessarily notice while it was there, but would feel its absence. Jack placed all four pieces in a little pile on the bedside table, then left the room without a backwards glance.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said again. He looked at Ray as he said this, hands clumsily going to Ray’s waist—just to hold something, just to know that he was real. “I don’t know what came over me…”

“It’s okay,” Ray insisted. Ryan let his head droop. “I’ll help you.”

“It was my fault anyway,” Geoff said. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Cool,” Michael cut in, getting up from his chair. “Now that we’ve all made amends—Geoff why don’t we go see if Gavin’s done fixing my phone.”

“Good idea, buddy,” Geoff agreed. Ryan let out a soft breath, thankful that Michael was bringing their conversation to a close. Geoff gave Ryan one last glance, his brow furrowed with worry, before turning and following Michael out of the bedroom. He closed the door behind him.

Ryan sank back to the mattress, covered his eyes with a hand as he let out a weak laugh. Ray adjusted himself to a more comfortable sitting position and rubbed Ryan’s shoulder.

“I’m like a fucking child,” Ryan croaked.

“Yeah,” Ray said. “You kind of are. But like, a child with a grenade launcher. Don’t worry, man. I’ll help you be more like a child with a homing missile.”

Ryan chuckled, genuine laughter this time, and he opened his eyes again and grabbed for Ray’s waist again with tired hands, tugging him closer. “Teach me, Obi Wan,” he muttered. “Make me a Jedi.”

“Sorry,” Ray said, reaching over and stroking a stray hair off of Ryan’s forehead. “We only have Siths here.”

“Oh,” Ryan said, frowning. “But do Siths get cuddles?”

Ray laughed, and Ryan grinned at the sound. “Yes,” he said. He pulled his legs up and twisted around to lie next to Ryan. Ryan scooted over a little to give him room. “Yes, Siths get cuddles.”

The act of scooting over seemed to drain the last bit of energy Ryan had left. He sleepily snuggled against Ray, letting the other’s warmth drowse him. The last thing he remembered was a kiss on his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he slep UoU
> 
> also if anything about this brand of magic seems familiar, it's been directly inspired by the Wheel of Time magic. I've tweaked it to make it more my own, of course, but yeah.


	24. In Which Ray Teaches Ryan How to Magic

The next day, Ryan’s voice had returned almost completely. It was a little weak, so sometimes his voice cracked, but for the most part he sounded normal. When Jack heard this improvement, he declared Ryan officially healed enough to leave the room for reasons other than just shower and bathroom. He also stopped brewing so much tea, though Ryan honestly didn’t miss its absence. A man can only have so much.

Meg’s house was quiet except for the murmur of the TV playing some commercial for paper towels. Ryan knew faintly that Jack had disappeared to the basement, but he wasn’t sure where the others were.

Ryan sat with Ray on the couch in the living room. Or rather, Ryan reclined on the couch, and Ray perched across his legs. He had his hand folded across his stomach, and Ray was absentmindedly stroking the back of Ryan’s hand while he played Pokémon one-handed. Ryan was barely paying attention to the TV. This moment was one of many he had dreamed of—just sitting together, enjoying each other’s company with idle touches. Complete comfort.

A significant worry wormed its way into the moment, though, so he inquired after his phone.

“Is it fixed yet?” Ryan asked.

“At this point it would probably take a miracle,” Ray said. “They haven’t given up quite yet at grabbing your data, but…”

“I see…” Ryan watched the TV leave its commercial break and switch back to a cartoon. “I’ve just been worried about Jon, to be honest. Without my phone, I haven’t really been able to get in touch. And I wouldn’t know what to say, anyway.”

“You could go see him,” Ray suggested. He stopped stroking Ryan’s hand and just let his hand lay on top of it. “We’ll help you think of a cover story.”

Ryan nodded. “The sooner, the better,” he said.

“But before we do that…” Ray shut his DS with a snap and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table. Then he shifted so that he straddled Ryan’s legs. “I’m supposed to teach you magic shit. You probably shouldn’t go do something super stressful if you cast spells in a panic again.”

Ryan’s cheeks flushed and he glanced away. “Yeah, I guess…”

Ray reached out and brushed a lock of hair off of Ryan’s forehead. “You got this,” he said. “Some part of you already _knows_ how to control this shit. You casted all those spells before no problem. I mean, fuck dude, you gave yourself magical amnesia!”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what,” Ray pressed. “What are you scared of?”

Ryan squirmed underneath him. “I dunno. It’s just—a lot.”

“It _is_ a lot of power,” Ray agreed, “but you were made to handle it. When you didn’t worry about whether or not you were an Aug, you had decent control. I know you _can_. So why do you fear it?”

“I…” Ryan bit his lip. Why _did_ he? What about being an Aug unsettled him? Others being Augs never bothered him that much, but he had just… never _been_ one. “God, I must’ve been two. I barely remember. My mom was so scared of me. You know? She wanted her son to grow up with strong morals, and if he was an Aug…”

“Not all Augs are criminals,” Ray said with a frown.

“No,” Ryan agreed. “But it sure makes it easier. You know the numbers. The ratio of Augs to Regs in the total population is probably 30/70? But in the criminal population, it’s closer to 60/40.”

“Jokes on her,” Ray said. “You became a criminal _before_ you knew you were an Aug.”

Ryan chuckled. “That is true.” But he sobered, then. That was why he had suppressed it, but that wasn’t the whole story. If that was the case, he could get over it easily enough. But the idea of holding onto magic again… “That’s not just it, though. When I was stuck in the machine, it—it hurt. There was so much and I felt like I was going to die. Ray, I—I don’t want to feel that pain again.”

Ray grabbed Ryan’s hands, folded them over Ryan’s stomach and squeezed them. “You don’t have to. I know you’re capable of controlling it—you’ve done it before. Just _remember_. How did you feel before? Like when you were in the warehouse. How did you feel using your magic when you would forget about it later?”

Ryan thought about the warehouse—the first time he had “forgotten.” Except now, he remembered. He had laughed as he shot back at Funhaus and their dealers. He had felt invincible. He had felt totally in control—an inexperienced grasp, his spellwork shoddy, learned quickly and applied quickly, but still in control.

“Good,” Ryan admitted. “Powerful.”

“Right.” Ray nodded. “If it’s normally fine, why let that stupid machine ruin it for you? It’s broken now anyway.”

Ryan gritted his teeth. “Easier said than done. What if I can’t stop it again? What if I just burn up next time?”

“Using magic is like exercising a muscle,” Ray said. He leaned forward and put his palms on either side of Ryan’s head, stroking a thumb across his cheek. “If you use too much, your body hurts to let you know that. There is no machine to force you to keep going. It’s just you and me. I’ll show you how to use your magic on purpose—though I think you already know how. And if you do mess up, I’m right fucking here.”

Ryan searched Ray’s dark eyes. There was no way he was getting out of this. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The idea of it still made him shiver and want to curl up. But if ever there was a time to do it, it would be now—with Ray there and hardly anyone else around. He opened his eyes again.

“I dunno,” Ryan said. He got a playful idea and couldn’t hide his smirk. “Maybe I need a kiss to steel my nerves.”

Ray laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “Alright,” he said. “But then you gotta listen to me.”

Ray closed the distance between their faces and swiftly planted a kiss on Ryan’s lips. Ryan held him there for just a moment or two, just long enough to feel giddy. Then Ray pulled back, and Ryan let him go so that he might grin up at him.

“Close your eyes,” Ray instructed. Ryan obeyed. With the darkness of his eyelids, the only thing he could sense was _Ray_. Ray’s voice, Ray’s warm weight on his legs and chest. He wanted to grumble, but he knew he was in good hands. “Do you feel the magic? Sort of… buzzing in the back of your head?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “I noticed it before, after Jack made the dead zone around the bed.”

“Good,” said Ray. “That makes this easier. Now everyone accesses their magic differently, but the way I explain it is to think of something that _fills_ you. For me, it’s like a flower. Picture a bud, and as it blooms, feel the magic bloom within you, its perfume reaching through your whole body. And then when the moment is ripe, you grab it and hold onto it.”

Ryan did as he was told, though he pictured something different. He envisioned a dark horizon, and magenta light peeked over it like a rising sun. This light filled him as the sun rose further, buzzed warmly at his fingertips and made his heart race. He got it—and even better, it didn’t hurt. He held onto the magic, held it in his body like he was a cup. He was tempted to draw more magic into himself, but he resisted. As it was now, it was sweet, sweet energy. He found himself grinning, and Ray chuckled as he, too, grasped his magic.

Ryan could feel the light of Ray’s magic. Beautiful, soft, its warmth mirroring Ryan’s. He could sense it like something just out of reach, like a toy in the window. He wanted to laugh. Why had he been so scared before? This was natural. This was _familiar_. He had done this all before, and now he _remembered._

But… He frowned. Ray’s magic felt dim. He could sense power beyond a sort of shield, as though someone had put a lampshade over a naked bulb. He pushed against it with his own magic, stretched his magic out. Why was this here?

It was almost unnoticeable when Ray wasn’t holding on to his magic. He doubted this lampshade would have been noticed by anyone else. He pushed harder. He forced against the barrier, clawed it, dug into it with his own magic. He felt the cracks in the lampshade—felt the magic beginning to leak out. The sweetness was almost overpowering, even with such little leaks. This was massive. This was…

“Stop it!” Ray shrieked.

Ryan’s eyes flew open, his magic receding suddenly. Ray’s voice had chilled it right out of him. He realized Ray was gripping the front of his shirt, hunched over and gasping as though holding back sobs—as though in pain. Ray glanced up, and Ryan’s breath caught. A pale white film had formed over Ray’s irises and pupils. As he watched, this fog faded, taking Ray’s pained expression with it until the only remembrance of the past moment was tears left on his cheek. Ray wiped at his eyes and frowned at his wet fingertips before staring at Ryan, worry scrunching up his brow.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice creaking a little. He gave a little laugh as more tears spilled down his cheek. Ryan couldn’t speak at first. _He had done this_. He had made Ray cry—he had pushed too much. But this meant… “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying…”

Ryan sat up slowly, allowing Ray timed to scoot back. He reached out and thumbed Ray’s tears away before pulling him into a tight hug. Ray seemed surprised by this at first, his spine stiffening, but then he relaxed into it. His hands curled across Ryan’s back, and he buried his face in Ryan’s shoulder. He seemed tired, now, as he breathed deeply and sagged into Ryan.

“It’s okay,” Ryan muttered. “It’s fine. I love you so much.”

Ryan had learned his self-amnesia spells from someone—just as he had picked up telekinetic spells from James, just as he had copied Michael’s magical armor. Something so intricate, inverted so that no one would notice unless they were looking closely. Keeping all that power down and subdued. Ryan had been imperfect in his application, and caused extreme results. But he had learned how to do it from someone, and he hadn’t noticed where the spell had come from until now.

He heard the pounding footsteps, so he and Ray were already pulling apart when Jack appeared from the hallway.

“What was _that_?” Jack sputtered.

“What was what?” Ray asked.

“I just felt a huge fucking magic surge,” Jack said. “Did—you guys not feel that?”

“I think that was me,” Ryan said, careful not to say it too fast. His heart pounded in his throat, and he felt nauseated. “Ray was teaching me how to control magic again.”

Jack’s brow furrowed, and he raked his fingers through his hair. “I see…”

“Actually…” Ryan glanced at Ray, whose eyes drooped, before looking back at Jack.  “Do you know where Geoff is? I need to tell him something.”

Jack puffed his cheeks out as he thought about it. “Uhh, if he hasn’t snuck out, he should be up in his room.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Ryan said. “I’ll go check.” He leaned over and pulled Ray’s head closer to plant a kiss on his forehead. Ray grinned drowsily up at him, giving Ryan’s hand a squeeze before Ryan got up from the couch. “Thanks for the lesson. You look like you could use a nap while I go see Geoff.”

“Don’t get lost on the way!” joked Ray, giving a little wave. He settled into the warm spot Ryan left behind and turned his head into the crook of his arm. Ryan smiled sadly as Ray grew still before walking away from the couch. To his surprise, Jack started to follow him, sticking close to his shoulder on his way down the hallway. Ryan reached the base of the stairs before he faced Jack.

“Do you _need_ something from me?” Ryan asked.

Jack crossed his arms. “What are you going to tell Geoff?”

“Don’t you think that’s between me and Geoff?”

“Nope,” said Jack. “You and Geoff have huddled together alone for long enough. I’m practically fucking _second in command_ , Ryan. Anything you want to tell Geoff, you should also tell me.”

Ryan clenched his jaw, then shook his head. “Fine. You’re right. Maybe you can help anyway. Come on…”

Ryan climbed the stairs with Jack close behind. He found Geoff’s door, shut to the world, and rapped his knuckles against it.

“ _What?_ ” Geoff called from the other side.

“It’s me,” Ryan said. “And Jack.”

“Oh. Okay. Uhh… come on in!”

Ryan pushed the door open, revealing the mauve room beyond. Geoff was reclining on his bed, relaxing on top of his black comforter with a thick book. Ryan didn’t catch the title before Geoff shut it and lay it face down beside him. Geoff sat up, seeing Ryan’s face and frowning.

“What brings you _both_ here?”

“I’m going to hear whatever Ryan tells you,” Jack said, shutting the door behind them and putting his hands on his hips. “You’ve kept me out of the loop here for too long.”

Geoff hesitated and looked at Ryan. Ryan gave him a curt nod. “Okay, Jack. You’re right. Ryan?”

Ryan couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It’s Ray,” Ryan blurted. “Ray is the angel.”

The room was as silent as a crypt for exactly seven seconds. Ryan counted. Then Geoff shot up from the bed, jumping to his feet and striding over to Ryan.

“Ray?” he repeated. He grabbed Ryan by the shoulders. “He’s the one? You’re sure?”

“ _Angel_ ,” Jack repeated. “You’re not talking about what Funhaus has been looking for?”

“In a way, yes. I’ll explain in a second,” Ryan said. “Geoff, you have to understand—he doesn’t know. He’s—lying to us, yes, but he doesn’t _know_ he’s lying.”

“Why?” Geoff said. “Why is he lying at all?”

Ryan swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I think—I think he’s scared.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Jack demanded. “Geoff, Ryan, what is Ray hiding? Geoff, I thought you told us not to worry about what Funhaus wanted! You said they were completely misguided!”

Ryan gently pried Geoff’s hands off his shoulders and looked at Jack. “That power surge you felt—that was him. Not me. For a long time, I had subconsciously suppressed my ability to use magic, and when it started coming out more and more, I made myself forget every time I used it. But the thing is—I learned all my spells during this time from the people around me. By watching them and copying what they did. Which meant that someone around me was using amnesia spells.”

“And you think _Ray_ is using amnesia spells?” Jack asked.

“On himself,” Ryan confirmed. “I don’t _think_ he is—I _know_ he is. He’s—he has this massive power, but he dims it and then makes himself forget that he’s dimmed it.”

“And how the fuck do you know _that_?” Jack snapped.

“I _felt_ it, Jack!” Ryan insisted. “I tried to break it, and he freaked out. He’s _scared._ ”

“You _felt_ it?” Jack repeated. He shook his head. “How long has he been doing this?”

“How the fuck should I know?!” Ryan cried.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Geoff cut in, holding his hands out palm-down in an effort to calm the other two. “What matters right now is that we can’t afford for him to be scared anymore! Funhaus is getting more and more desperate to find our angel and use them for their own gain somehow. If we keep going like this—if we keep getting caught off guard because we’re trying to protect someone’s amnesia, then how long until one of us dies?”

The silence that followed settled between Ryan’s shoulder blades and dug in. Jack rolled his shoulders, adjusted his stance, and Ryan knew he felt it too. Ray had lied to them all—maybe even including to himself. He didn’t even remember lying. And no one, right now, knew how long this has gone on. Did Ray hide this long before he ever joined the Fakes? Or was it recent? Whatever the case, Ryan couldn’t find it in him to be angry. The fear had been real.

Geoff looked both of them in the eye.

“We have to tell him,” said Geoff. “This cannot continue.”


	25. In Which Ryan Reveals the Angel

“But how do we tell him?” Ryan asked. “When?”

“As soon as possible,” Geoff said simply, “and as plainly as we must.”

“If Ryan’s right…” Jack mused. “Then it’s not like Ray needs any time to prepare. No matter how long we wait, it’s going to surprise him.”

“But we should do it carefully,” Geoff added. “We’re doing this for the safety of him and our crew, not to purposefully freak him out.”

“So then _how?_ ” Ryan pleaded. “How do we tell him?”

“Aren’t you his boyfriend right now?” Jack asked sharply. It was as if Jack had flicked him on the forehead, and Ryan blinked. They hadn’t used any titles yet; he supposed Jack was right.

“But,” Ryan countered, “you two have known Ray for much longer.”

“If that was our criteria, Michael would be the longest,” Geoff said, scratching his chin. “He and Jeremy might have ideas. But if we tell everyone else before we tell him, that itself is a betrayal.”

The three of them fell silent. If Ray was the last to know, even for a very short while, then that was isolating. It would be treating him like a child, like he didn’t really deserve to know.

“You might have to break it by force,” Jack said suddenly. Ryan stared at him. “The spell you said he had on him. You felt it right? You might be the only one among us with the power to forcibly break it if he won’t do it himself. Besides that, you probably _should_ be the one.”

“Me?”

“Jack’s right,” Geoff admitted. “You’ve been his safety for a while. It would probably be the gentlest way.”

Ryan rolled his shoulders. It was true. It was all true.

“We’ll help you,” Geoff added. “We’ll be there too. As you said, he’s known us longer.”

“Okay,” Ryan said finally. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

* * *

 

While Ray took his nap, the three of them prepared. Ryan rehearsed several opening lines with Jack and Geoff each pretending to be Ray in response. And when Ryan couldn’t seem to stop pacing even to rehearse, they went downstairs.

Ray was still asleep face down on the couch. Ryan hovered at the entrance to the room, Geoff and Jack flanking him. Cautiously, Ryan reached for the magic again. It took him a couple tries, and he forced himself to take a few steadying breaths before he managed it. But once he had it, its power filling him sweetly, he reached out with it. He tried to sense the lampshade spell as he had before, but he couldn’t feel anything. It was as though it would only be visible while Ray was accessing magic as well.

Geoff and Jack didn’t say anything, only waited. Ryan got the feeling that if he tried to escape now, they would block him, but otherwise they were patient. Ryan hesitated, letting his hold on the magic filling him slip away, ebbing like a tide. Then he walked over to the couch to sit on the arm next to Ray’s head. Geoff and Jack only came a few steps into the room, still waiting. He reached down and gently stroked Ray’s hair until Ray stirred.

“Hmm?” Ray blinked up at Ryan, then squinted at Jack and Geoff. His glasses were on the coffee table. “Oh, Ryan, if you’re looking for an orgy, I’ll have to pass.”

“Ah, no,” Ryan said. He flashed a smile, but that was all he could manage for how queasy his stomach felt. Ray pushed himself up on his elbows and reached for his glasses to put them on. “Listen, Ray, I have to tell you something. About what Funhaus has been looking for.”

Ray sat up fully, rubbing his eyes. “Huh? They’re not looking for anything real. Geoff said himself they’re misled.”

“Well…” Ryan hesitated. He glanced at Geoff, who gave him a curt nod. He felt like throwing up. “It’s you. They’re looking for you.”

Ray frowned. It was his turn to glance at Geoff. “What are you talking about? They want someone with immense power. Someone who doesn’t _exist_.”

“That’s not quite true,” Ryan said. Ray stared at him. “That person _does_ exist, and—it’s you.”

Ray smiled, but his brow was still furrowed. He seemed unsure about Ryan’s intent. “That’s very funny, Ryan,” he said. “But you need better jokes.”

“I’m serious, Ray.”

“I’m serious, too,” Ray shot back, launching to his feet. “Don’t you think I’d know how powerful I am? Do you think I’m _lying?_ ”

The front door burst open, Michael and Jeremy piling into the front hall with bags of groceries, laughing about something. They stopped when four pairs of eyes turned to them. The atmosphere in the family room deadened theirs. They set their bags against the wall and hovered at the entrance to the family room.

“Hey guys,” Jeremy said slowly, glancing between them. “What’s going on?”

“The bank,” Ryan said suddenly, a realization hitting him. He stood as well. “James told me that one of them, Spoole, could tell where our powerful Aug is.”

“That’s right,” Jack said. “I remember Spoole kept glancing at our corner, even though Ray’s spell should have hidden us.”

“I’m not perfect,” Ray said. “Maybe he felt the spell. Besides, James was probably lying!”

“The carnival,” Ryan muttered. Ray whipped his head around to stare at Ryan.

“What?” Ray hissed.

“The carnival,” Ryan repeated. “Funhaus followed you there. Or at least, you thought they did. But now I think they knew you’d be there because Spoole knew. They’ve been searching for you this whole time.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into your head,” Ray said, “but you’re wrong. I’m just a regular Aug! I’ve never been anything else!”

“Ryan thinks Ray is what, some super powerful Aug?” Michael asked. His face scrunched up in confusion. “I thought Geoff…”

“Yeah, well, I lied,” Geoff snapped. “Jesus Christ, y’all are dense mother fuckers. Ryan’s been investigating this for me.”

“ _What?_ ” Ray yelped.  “You had Ryan _investigating us?_ Fucking why!?”

“Well I didn’t _want_ to!” Geoff cried back.

 “He was worried about having a mole.” Gavin had appeared from the basement, and now he leaned against the entrance to the family room with his arms crossed. He rolled his eyes. “He thought someone might have been purposefully lying to all of us. You can understand the concerns for security there.”

“You knew about this too?” Jeremy asked.

Gavin shrugged. “I figured it out.”

“Alright, whatever,” Ray said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t care what Geoff did. But it’s not fucking me.”

Ryan could feel panic at the edge of his conscience. The conversation was going too fast, and he didn’t have the time to think of answers. He could only watch Ray clench and unclench his fists and glance from Fake to Fake. He wished he could whisk Ray away from such a scene. He wished he could hug him and shield him from all this, but he didn’t dare try to touch Ray now.

“Ryan,” Jack said softly. Ryan jumped. “Maybe you should show him now.”

“Show me _what_ ,” Ray snapped.

Ryan winced. Ray looked at him now, the frown never leaving his face. Dread filled his stomach like poison. “Ray, hold on to your magic. Don’t cast anything, just hold on to it.”

“Fucking why?”

“Ray, please,” Ryan said, holding Ray’s gaze. “I need you to trust me.”

Ray studied his face, and for a heart-stopping moment Ryan feared he would storm out. But Ryan didn’t look away—he wouldn’t be the one to break eye contact. He hoped Ray could read his face. He hoped Ray knew that he only wanted what was best for Ray and the rest of the Fakes.

Finally, Ray looked away. His ears turned red. “Fine. Jesus. You don’t have to make such a show.”

Ryan reached for his magic, too. He got it in one try this time, and he felt the warmth from Ray’s. Ray shrugged, throwing his hands up as he stood there, full of magical energy but not doing anything with it. And Ryan felt the lampshade again, dimming the magic.

“This is as much as I can do,” Ray said. “Happy now? Or do you need me to prove it more?”

“Ray,” said Ryan. “I’m really sorry.”

Ray faltered, his face going blank. “About what?”

Ryan winced. “Forgive me.”

He lashed out with his magic.

Ryan wasn’t sure what he expected. A flash of light, maybe, as he shattered the lampshade. A choir of voices, of noise, of screams, maybe. Something dramatic with weird symbols appearing in the room, maybe. But instead, Ray clutched across his chest, clutched like he was trying to hold in the contents of his ribcage. Ryan shoved against the lampshade with all force he could muster, breaking open the cracks again, tearing them and shattering the lampshade. Ray shrieked, _no!_ , and folded over. Magic flooded out of him, a surge felt by every Aug in the room, only for it to recede as suddenly as it had come. He collapsed to the floor and lay still.

He was out cold.

Ryan let go of his magic, feeling hollow. Ryan went to him, stooped down and scooped him up to lay him on the couch again. He kissed Ray’s forehead and gently took his glasses and placed them on the coffee table.

He couldn’t shake the lump of dread lodged in his stomach. Would Ray hate him when he woke up? They just kind of lumped this all on him without giving him any proper time to prepare. Would it have been better to try to convince him more? Ryan knew first-hand how overwhelming having sudden power was. Even though Ray was used to being an Aug, this was still a lot to handle. And clearly it was something he didn’t want to face, and Ryan had forced him to anyway.

“Um,” said Michael, stepping further into the room. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“He’ll be fine,” Jack said. “Ryan just… unlocked his full potential.”

“Looks like he’ll be out for a while,” Jeremy said. His face was pale, and he folded his arms over his stomach like he was nauseated. “I mean, _I_ would be. You guys felt that?”

“No,” Geoff said.

“I did,” Jack said. “That confirms it for me. Ray’s our angel, or so Ryan calls it.”

They stared at Ray’s unconscious form for a while. Ryan didn’t know what to do, so he just stood. No one else made any movements either.

“So why did he lie about it then?” Michael asked quietly. “Why’d he lie to us?”

“To be fair,” Ryan said, “he didn’t know he was lying. He made himself forget.”

“Like you were doing to yourself?” Jeremy asked.

Ryan nodded. “Pretty much. Except I have no idea when he started doing this. It could have been before he met any of you, for all I know. But _he_ should know when he wakes up. He should remember now.”

Geoff crossed the room and put a heavy hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t feel so guilty,” he said. “It was for the best. He’ll understand.”

“Thanks, Geoff,” Ryan mumbled.

Geoff glanced at Ray, then patted Ryan’s shoulder before stepping back. “Why don’t you go see your friend Jon? Go check up on him.”

“Seriously? Now?”

“If it’s anything like how you reacted to your magic,” Geoff said, “then he’ll be out for a while. You’ve kept Jon waiting for too long already. If Ray wakes up before you get back, we’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

Ryan bit his lip and looked at Ray. He had been intending to visit Jon soon, either today or tomorrow anyway. With this recent development, he might not get another chance for a while. Once Ray woke up, Ryan would have to be torn from his side by force. Grimly, he nodded. He leaned down and planted another kiss on Ray’s forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered. “Just gotta let Jon know I’m still alive.”

He straightened and walked away from the couch. Michael and Jeremy watched him silently, and Jack let him pass without a word. Gavin jogged up to him, however, and handed him a cell phone. A touch screen device outfitted with a sturdy black case.

“We got you a new one,” Gavin said. “It’s already programmed with our numbers and with safety measures. For you, though, it’s just a new phone.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said, pocketing the phone. “Guess this means you’ve given up on my old one.”

Gavin grinned sheepishly and scratched his head. “It was fried _way_ beyond what we could fix. Sorry.”

“You did your best.” Ryan glanced back at the family room. Michael, Jeremy, and Jack were still watching him, and Geoff had kneeled next to Ray. “I’ll see you guys later.”

* * *

 

Ryan arrived at Jon’s apartment complex and hesitated with his finger over the buzzer. He took a deep breath. Why were his hands _shaking_ so fucking bad? This was Jon. Just Jon. He _had_ to check in on him. He pressed the buzzer before he could change his mind.

A few seconds passed, and Ryan feared Jon wasn’t home. But then he heard a click from the intercom, and Jon’s voice breathed through.

“Hello? Who is it?”

The intercom went dead again, waiting for Ryan to speak.

“It’s me, Jon,” he said. “It’s Ryan.”

The intercom was silent for so long that Ryan thought it hadn’t worked right. He was about to hit the buzzer again when he heard the small click.

“Oh my God,” Jon breathed, the intercom rasping with his quiet words. “Come up. Come up you stupid bastard.” His voice squeaked on the last word, and immediately after, the door unlocked.

A sign on the elevator just inside informed Ryan it was broken. As he grumbled and headed towards the stairs for his several-story climb, his new phone rang. He fumbled for it, awkwardly thumbing the screen to accept the call. He caught a glimpse of the name “Bossman” before he put the phone to his ear.

“Hey Geoff,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Ray fucking vanished again,” Geoff sighed, sounding more disappointed than angry. Ryan’s heart panged. “Did it right under our goddamn noses too. We were watching him, and then he wasn’t there. Probably spelled us. It is what it is—Gavin suggested he probably went to go find you, and honestly I wouldn’t be surprised. But I thought you should know, so you can keep a lookout when you’re done with Jon.”

Ryan paused right before the door to the stairs, staring at the fake wood. Ray _had_ to stop running like that. Ryan wasn’t going to accept that stress again, so he was absolutely going to find Ray after this. He _would_ go right now, but Jon was already waiting.

“Thanks, Geoff,” Ryan said. “I’ll go find him later.”

“Okay,” Geoff said. “I’m not trying to rush you, but don’t like, spend the fucking night, okay?”

“Roger that. See you later.”

Ryan hung up and began his climb. Initially, he moved quickly, taking steps two at a time, but when he passed the fifth floor, he slowed to catch his breath. Stupid elevators had to be broken…

He reached Jon’s floor without any other issue, and only had to take a few moments to let his heart slow down. Then he approached Jon’s door and lifted his hand. He hesitated. He wished his hands would stop shaking. He took another deep breath, and he knocked.

He heard Jon drop something and swear. And then, “Come in! Door’s unlocked.”

Ryan reached for the handle and pushed the door open. Heat washed over his face, and his vision burned with a hundred candle flames. Jon stood wearing his blue blazer in the middle of his apartment with nearly every black candle lit. Candles flickered from the windowsill under the broad, bright window, from the coffee table and the kitchen table, from small tables at the edges of the room. Jon held a matchbox in his hand as he stood frozen, staring at Ryan.

“You’re okay,” Jon whispered.

Ryan shrugged and smiled awkwardly as he entered the apartment fully, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Jon let the matchbox fall from his grasp as he closed the distance between them in long strides. He threw his arms around Ryan’s neck and sank his wait against him, burying his face in Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan embraced him back, holding him tight.

“You fucking asshole,” Jon mumbled into Ryan’s shirt. “I hate you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Jon,” Ryan said softly. He looked past Jon towards the large exterior window. It ran the length of the living room wall, and its long sill had as many lit candles as it could hold. “Isn’t this a fire hazard?”

“Oh, um.” Jon pulled back, glancing over his shoulder towards the rest of the apartment. The pale beige walls, the white carpet and blue couch, the warm brown coffee table. A few artsy photographs hanging on the walls. “Only if you tip them over. Come—come sit down. I’ll bring you some tea?”

Jon pushed him over towards the couch, and Ryan happily obliged as Jon went to his little kitchen. Truth be told, Ryan didn’t want yet another cup of tea, but he wanted to be polite. Jon set his phone on the kitchen counter and busied himself. Not once did he look over at Ryan, and for a few moments, silence wedged itself between them.

Jon’s phone rattled against the counter as it got a text message. Jon jumped, sucking in a gasp and dropping the mug he had pulled from his cabinet. Ryan hopped up from the couch and strode over. Jon’s hands were shaking, and he hadn’t made any effort to retrieve his mug yet. Ryan bent down and picked it up. It had chipped on the lip, but otherwise was unharmed.

“Is everything okay?” Ryan asked, setting the mug next to Jon’s phone. He winced. That seemed stupid to ask. “I mean—you seem awfully jumpy.”

Jon slammed his hands down on the counter, and it was Ryan’s turn to startle. “I thought you had died!” Jon screamed at the counter.

Ryan stepped back. He felt like gravity had increased its hold on him tenfold. He should have come sooner. But when? His voice had been shot for days. He’d been unable to stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time.

“I came as soon as I could,” he said gently. “I’m sorry—I…”

“Oh I knew you weren’t,” Jon hissed. He glared at the countertop, his whole frame trembling. “I dug around. You never showed up at the morgue. I feared—I feared you’d been hurt though. Or captured, kidnapped by the lunatics that attacked the party. No calls, no texts, no ransom notes. Nothing.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Ryan stressed again. He put his hands on Jon’s shoulders and coaxed him away from the counter. Jon straightened stiffly and allowed himself to be steered towards the couch. “I—I _was_ hurt. Not badly, but it took me out of commission for a few days. I never wanted to cause you such stress…”

“Come off it,” Jon snapped. He stopped suddenly and batted Ryan’s hands away. Ryan gave him space where they stood, back in the middle of Jon’s apartment. Now Jon met Ryan’s eyes, and the fire flickered in those blue irises. “You don’t have to give me any more fucking excuses. Just tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” Ryan repeated. His practiced story floated to the tip of his tongue and quivered. “W-well you see, after we got separated, I…”

“Stop that,” Jon cut him off. The lie rotted in Ryan’s mouth. “I said the _truth_. I wanted to give you a chance to tell me yourself. One last chance.”

“Tell you what?” Ryan asked quietly, knowing the answer. His heart tried to gallop away through his ears. His feet were rooted, but his head threatened to float away.

“I know you’re the Vagabond.”


	26. In Which Ryan Thinks About Defying Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (post) Extra Life everyone! :D We raised over $1.2 MILLION DOLLARS! That's crazy!
> 
> ALSO WE PASSED THE 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THIS STORY HOLY CRAP

Ryan thought for a moment that the floor had disappeared and he was falling all the way back down to the earth. He took a step back. He reached for his magic, an instinctive lunge for the sparkling warm energy that lay just beyond his fingertips…

Except it wasn’t there. His mind, his body, his spirit was silent to the magic. He stared at Jon for a moment before glancing around the room. He didn’t notice any blue lights, but… could it be?

“I see you’ve found a use for the candles,” Ryan murmured.

“The Vagabond was recently revealed to be an Aug,” Jon said simply, crossing his arms. He glared, but his eyes seemed too shiny. “The candles were a gift from Saga Systems a while ago. I’m just surprised you didn’t notice it sooner.”

Ryan bristled. He had walked into a trap—set by his _friend?_ “What proof do you even have?” he hissed.

Jon rolled his eyes and ticked off on his fingers. “The most obvious one was your injury. I witnessed myself the Vagabond getting shot in the shoulder. Then _you_ show up to take care of me while nursing _that_ _same_ _shoulder_. Before that, there was the night after your not-date with Ray. You were all disheveled and I teased you, but I knew you were hiding something, _especially_ since the Vagabond started showing up after that! And I don’t even have to mention that _fucking_ ear piece, and the fact that the Fakes showed up moments later. That only confirmed what I already suspected. There were half a dozen little things, too. Half a dozen lies you tried feeding me, and I took them. I thought, maybe it really is that way. I thought, maybe he’ll come clean next time.”

“That’s all circumstance,” Ryan insisted. He put a growl into his words, but suppressed a shiver. What was he _doing?_ Was he trying to _threaten_ Jon? He was cornered, and Jon knew enough that he couldn’t escape. His heart twisted like there was a knife lodged between his ribs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon snapped. He swallowed hard. “Did you really think I’d be too dumb to figure it out?”

“And what would I have said!?” Ryan roared. “Hey, Jon, by the way, I’ve joined a criminal organization, and I’ve actually become a part of their inner circle. Would have been nice saying hello to you from the other side of bars!”

“No!” Jon cried, throwing his hands up. His eyes roved at the ceiling for a few seconds, as though trying to tip tears back into their ducts. “No, instead you just _used_ me!”

Ryan stilled as the realization hit him. His anger faded, replaced by a cold lump of regret and guilt.

“Jon…” he whispered. He lifted his hand, but Jon took a step back.

“You used me,” Jon repeated. He couldn’t quite hold back tears, and they welled and threatened to spill. His voice was tight with them, and he had to fight the words out. “I’ve been a _tool_ to you this whole fucking time. I kept waiting. Like maybe he’ll finally come clean. Maybe I’ll be a friend and an ally. And things just kept getting _worse_ , Vagabond. Am I even worth anything to you other than my connections?”

Ryan frowned. “You’re saying you would have helped even if you _knew_?”

“I don’t know!” Jon cried, throwing his hands up again. “I don’t know what I would have done! But it’s better than being used by someone you thought was your best friend! Right?”

Jon hid his face in his hands and hunched over. Ryan couldn’t find it in him to be angry anymore. He closed the distance between them in a few small steps and gently gripped Jon’s upper arms. But Jon convulsed at his touch and shoved him back.

“Get your hands off me,” Jon hissed. Ryan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he could recover from this. He didn’t know if anyone could. Jon turned away from Ryan. “You should have either told me, or left me out of it completely. Not some shitty compromise.”

And he was right. Ryan sagged. Jon was right. This hadn’t happened because Ryan was the Vagabond. This had happened because he had lied to Jon over and over and used Jon to advance his own personal goals. He opened his mouth—and stopped. Were those… footsteps? A lot of them? Jon spun towards his apartment door, his eyes wide and wild. Ryan watched the blood drain from his face.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Jon,” said Ryan. “Who’s that?”

“I just wanted you to tell me the truth,” Jon blurted, his eyes glued to the door.

“Hey guys,” a voice said through the door. It sounded tired. It sounded like Adam from Funhaus. “Why don’t we get this over with, okay?”

“So you hired _mercs?_ ” Ryan exclaimed. “You called _Funhaus_ to your fucking _apartment_?”

“ _I wanted you to tell me the truth_ ,” Jon repeated, more forcefully this time. He glared at Ryan. “I told them I knew who the Vagabond was. They told me to call them whenever you showed up next.”

Ryan lost track of his voice for a second. Adam knocked again, pounded against the door. “That’s…” Ryan’s heart pounded. He was… compromised? “That’s so fucking _stupid._ I can’t believe you—you’re going to get us both killed!”

Jon squared his shoulders and looked Ryan right in the eye. “You drove me to this,” he said, saying each word deliberately. Slowly. Ryan could hear the struggle to keep his voice calm. Ryan took a step back. “You used me for too long. I’m not your puppet.”

“Alright, we’re coming in,” Adam sighed through the door. He sounded like he would rather be somewhere else.

The door burst open with a bang and a crunch. Ryan barely had time to react, lurching for Jon and pulling them both down as bullets ripped above them. Jon shrieked. Bullets peppered his back wall and pierced holes into the large window for just a few moments, but as soon as it stopped, Jon struggled away from Ryan and leaped to his feet.

“I told you no shooting!” he cried.

“Oh shut up, you’re fine,” said Adam. “You’ll get reimbursed.”

Ryan hopped to his feet and twisted around so he was behind Jon. Jon sucked in a shuddering gasp as Ryan grabbed his arms and used him as a body shield against the armed men that had entered the apartment. Guilt twanged his heartstrings for using Jon yet again, but he had to think of his survival. He was magicless, weaponless. Jon hid most of his face for now, except for an eye and a bit of brow. Meanwhile Adam wore a bulletproof vest and carried an uzi, flanked by four decked out mercenaries Ryan didn’t recognize with an orange armband marking their current employer. Jon stood stock still, but Ryan could feel his whole body shivering.

Adam rolled his eyes, waving his uzi lazily. His mercenaries still had their guns trained on Jon and Ryan, and they collectively body-blocked the only exit. “Alright, come on. We don’t want to make this harder than it has to be.”

Ryan took a step back, forcing Jon to move with him. He shifted them both to the side so that the coffee table was no longer behind them.

“And _what_ do you plan to do, exactly?” Adam drawled. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”

Ryan took another step back. If only he could extinguish these candles. The ones under the window were flickering in the wind that managed to squeeze through the bullet holes, but they were adamantly lit. So if he could get out of the dead zone provided by the candles…  Adam sighed and took a step forward too.

“Look, if it’s any consolation, we don’t want to kill you. Yet. You don’t have to make this so difficult.”

Ryan wondered if he could fly. His grip was tight on Jon’s arms, but he couldn’t seem to loosen it. He wondered if, barring flight, he’d at least be able to slow his fall. It wouldn’t be hard to manipulate the wind—that would be just like using telekinesis. Never mind that he hadn’t tried before. If all else failed, he’d channel enough pure magic energy that Newton’s third law would slow him. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t have much choice.

“So…” Adam said, taking another step. “Are you gonna come or n—”

Ryan whispered an apology and shoved Jon. _He’ll be fine_ , he thought. _They’re working with him_. As Jon stumbled forward into Adam, Ryan spun and sprinted towards the window. He sent a prayer to anyone that would listen, ducked his head under his arms, and dove through the weakened glass. It shattered around him, tore over his arms.

He fell. The cold wind whipped around him. He was free of the candles, and he felt the hum of magic just beyond his reach, but his heart leapt to his throat, and just out of reach the magic remained. His magic slipped from his fingertips, and he fell, and he fell. He squeezed his eyes shut. He had assumed he’d be able to grasp his magic as soon as he was out. He had assumed. He had assumed.

He wished.

His downward direction changed suddenly, as though he had hit something. The air in his lungs shoved its way out as something looped under his arms. His head snapped down with the change in momentum, and it was a few seconds before he could look up and breathe again.

He wasn’t falling. In fact, he was rising back up, whatever carrying him jammed up under his arms. A bright white glow edged his vision. His eyes landed on Jon’s shattered window as it descended in front of him. He spotted it just in time to see Jon’s small narrow figure get shoved to his knees by a bulkier one, and another figure stepped around him and blocked him from view. Just as Ryan noticed orange flickering at the corner of the window, his flight took him too high to see, then turned.

Ryan realized that there were arms wrapped around him, arms clad in purple and gripping each other with white knuckles so that Ryan wouldn’t slip from his grasp. The glow at the edge of his vision wasn’t head injury but a pair of huge wings seemingly made of pure light, gusting against the wind.

“Ray,” he whispered. The wind roared in his ears, but he couldn’t make himself louder. “You’re flying.”

“Shut up!” Ray groaned in his ear. His chin was on Ryan’s shoulder, his chest pressed to Ryan’s back. “Let me concentrate, you heavy asshole.”

Ryan sucked in a breath as they wove through the Los Santos skyscrapers. Ray seemed to be heading for the hills. “We need to—what about Jon?”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Ray hissed, his voice strained from effort. Ryan quieted and focused on not vomiting as his stomach flipped every time Ray swerved. And Ray swerved a _lot_ —he couldn’t seem to fly steady, and banked wide around buildings. The ground passed beneath them in a blur, and Ryan felt the tingle of magic all around him as Ray also masked their presence in the air. Ryan closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. At least with his eyes closed, he could pretend he was riding a truly awful roller coaster with an uncomfortable harness.

“So,” Ray grunted after what felt like hours. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“What.”

“I don’t know how to land.”

“You _what._ ”

“I’m gonna drop you.”

Ryan opened his eyes again. Dirt and grass blurred beneath him. For a brief moment, white light filled his vision as the wings curved forward, and then Ray’s arms slipped from under Ryan’s. Ryan dropped to the rushing ground and tumbled, rolling over and over until his speed slowed and stopped. He groaned. His arms stung, and his neck lanced with pain. Whiplash, probably.

Ryan lay there for a few moments to breathe and gather his scattered thoughts. He heard Ray drop and roll too, not too far away. His stomach squeezed in on itself, and he felt bile rise up his throat. He swallowed. The flight still unsettled him, but now that he could think again, all the recent events tumbled and scattered in his mind like frightened rabbits.

Ryan massaged his neck as he sat up, then took stock of his injuries. His sleeves had ripped, and his arms were bleeding and dirty. He would have to clean those sooner rather than later, but the lasting damage should be minimal. At least, to his body. A sour taste filled his mouth. But to Jon, and their relationship… The cold hand of betrayal gripped him—but hadn’t he wielded it, too?

“Ryan—” Ray started. Ryan held up a finger in the direction Ray’s voice had come from, then turned and vomited into the nearest patch of grass.

When he finished retching, he spat out the last bit of sour taste and glanced up. They were on top of one of the mountains, tall dry grass waving cheerily in the cool breeze as the sun warmed them.

“What the fuck was that,” Ray snapped. He marched over to Ryan, his hair sticking up everywhere and his jeans and hoodie smudged with dirt. He helped Ryan stand and they both stumbled away from the puke, upwind, before they both plopped down again on the grass. It seemed both of them needed time to sit, time to catch their breath. They had a view here. Sunny, rounded mountains swept away from them, and the edge of Los Santos peeked into sight between the hills

“What _happened_ , Ryan?” Ray asked again. “Why did you go out a fucking window?”

Ray’s eyes were shiny with tears, but he held them back. He leaned forward on his hands and did his best to look angry. Ryan winced as he tried to carefully brush some of the dirt away from his cuts.

“It was Jon. I…”

“ _Jon?_ ” Ray repeated. “Jon made you jump out of a window?”

“ No! Not exactly!”  Ryan said quickly. “If you’ll let me explain. Jon, he—he figured it out. He figured out I’m the Vagabond.”

Ray sucked in a breath. “And so when you went to him…”

“He cornered me,” Ryan said. “He—made a dead zone and called Funhaus when I arrived. So he confronted me, and then Adam and some mercenaries showed up.”

“Fuck dude,” Ray breathed. “Good thing I was there, then.”

“You definitely saved my life,” Ryan said, smiling. “Did you know I was heading to Jon’s? You had been unconscious when I said anything…”

“I followed you,” Ray said. He stared into the distance, into the mountains. “I mean… I felt you? I knew vaguely where you were, what direction you were in. I could sense you.”

“My little guardian angel,” Ryan teased. Ray squirmed.

“What are you gonna do about Jon now?” Ray asked. “Do we need to eliminate him? Protect your iden—”

“No!” Ryan said, too sharply, too loud. Ray jumped and stared at him. “He—I—look. It’s my fault this all happened. I should have either told him myself or left him out of my operations completely. Whatever happens next, I’ll deal with.”

Ray reached up and smoothed Ryan’s hair down, tucking flyaway locks back into place. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll help you transfer your accounts and legal shit in case there’s a warrant for your arrest.”

“Might need it,” Ryan agreed. The brief image of Jon being shoved to his knees flashed across Ryan’s mind’s eye. _He’ll be fine. They’re working together. They wouldn’t hurt him since they want to get to me, for some reason._

Ray dropped his hand and turned away again. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, looking once more over the mountain range. Ryan waited for him to say something, but he was silent.

Ryan bit down a sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket. They couldn’t sit on this mountain forever. He found “Bossman” in the contact list and dialed.

“What’s up?” Geoff answered.

“Ray and I need a ride,” Ryan said. “We’re uh, near Mt. Chiliad.”

“Alright,” said Geoff. “Turn on the tracker in your phone and I’ll get Matt to follow it. We’ll be there in like thirty, forty minutes.”

“Sounds good,” said Ryan, and he hung up.

Ryan focused on his injuries, wiping the blood from his arms onto the grass. His stomach still churned, but at least he didn’t feel nauseated anymore. So he supposed that, at least, was a good thing. He avoided glancing at Ray, affording him as much privacy in his thoughts as he could. Ryan himself felt like he was threatening to cave in on himself. He fretted both about Jon and about Ray, and his thoughts constantly leapt from one to the other as though performing a fitness test.

Now that both of their powers were unblocked, Ryan could feel Ray next to him, too. Like a fuzzy spot on his internal radar, like his magic was constantly reaching for Ray’s. Like the magic they accessed was cut from the same cloth. Maybe they all were, Ryan mused. But only he and Ray sensed each other—maybe because of how much they could access. Maybe he could learn to sense the other Fakes’ Augs in time.

“I didn’t want this,” Ray said finally. Ryan stilled, his distracted thoughts fleeing. Ray swallowed and looked back at Ryan, his cheek pressing against his arm. His eyes were dry. Blank. “I don’t want this power.”

Ryan reached over and draped his arm over Ray’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. Ray let himself lean into Ryan, and Ryan could feel the dry sobs that would occasionally shake Ray’s frame.

“I know,” he said. He could feel his own magic, humming just beyond his perception. Massive. Legendary. He laid his cheek on Ray’s crown and stroked Ray’s arm. “Believe me, I know.”

“It’s too m-much,” Ray said. “No one sh-should have this much.”

 “Lots of people would love this kind of power, you know,” Ryan murmured. Ray shook his head—a short, rapid shake.

“I can’t _do_ this,” Ray said. “What was wrong with the way life was?”

“It was unsustainable. But you’re not alone,” Ryan said. “Please talk about it. Please tell me why you’re scared.”

Ray fell quiet for a few moments. “Is it alright if we keep looking at the view instead of each other?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Ryan. “Yes, of course.”

Ray exhaled. “I remember it, now. What it was like before. I think… Michael should remember now, too.” A chill shivered down Ryan’s spine. He closed his eyes and focused on the sun warming his skin. His cuts burned. “Shit, I think we were around twelve? In middle school. When—when a bunch of us started getting involved with gangs and shit, Michael and I figured out that I could do this. That I could fly, and use so much more magic than the next guy.”

“How’d that happen?”

“I just _tried_ it,” Ray said simply. “We were looking at birds and I thought, ‘I could probably do that.’ And then I did. And from there on out, it was obvious that I could do a lot more than any other Aug.”

“So then…” Ryan bit his lip. Ray was very, very still against his side. “What happened to make you hide it?”

“I was targeted,” Ray said. “Some of them wanted to control me. Bribe me to their side and manipulate me. Michael and I both were pretty cautious, though—you have to be when you grow up where we grew up—so if I didn’t catch on, he usually did. Some of them wanted to kill me. They thought it was unfair I had so much power, or they feared what havoc I would wreck when I got older. A few thought I had a responsibility to change the world. As a fucking middle schooler, that’s all equally terrifying.”

Ryan didn’t respond. He couldn’t imagine living like that. Even with a life of crime, Ray would have had to be extra careful. And so young…

Ray grasped Ryan’s hand and maneuvered it off his shoulder, so that Ryan was no longer hugging him to his side. He pulled the hand down between them, made Ryan hold his hand palm up on top of his thigh. Ray stroked Ryan’s palm with a finger, then laid his hand over Ryan’s. Ryan curled his fingers up, threading them between Ray’s. Ray’s palm heated up, and the heat spread up Ryan’s arm and soothed his burning cuts. He watched the injuries heal partially, the blood congealing and scabbing over. His neck still hurt, but his cuts were closed.

“That’s all I’ve figured out so far,” Ray admitted. “That and broken bones.”

“That’s amazing,” Ryan breathed.

“It’s terrifying,” Ray said. Ryan gave his hand a squeeze. “I didn’t want to believe it again until I saw you falling out the window… Like, I learned to manipulate my memory—and Michael’s—when I was a _teenager_. I locked it down, then we skipped town. No one ever knew enough to worry about me later, except Michael.”

“You spelled Michael, too.”

“He _told_ me to. I wanted him to know, as a failsafe, but he refused. Said he’d be more of a liability than a failsafe. And now we’re here.” Ryan saw Ray’s head move in his peripheral vision and turned to meet Ray’s eyes. “Now we’re here.”

If Ryan’s mouth didn’t still taste like sour vomit, he would have kissed Ray full on the lips. He yearned to provide that physical comfort, to press his love and care into a kiss. Instead, he said, “You’re not a kid anymore. And it’s not just you and Michael now. You have the Fakes. And you have me. I don’t know what you’re going to do with your power, but we don’t have to know. That’s—that’s the future’s problem. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Ray averted his gaze, stared at the ground as his free hand ripped at the grass. "You d-didn’t have to break it," he said softly. “Why did you have to break it?”

Ryan rubbed Ray’s back, massaged into his shoulder muscles. “It was time,” Ryan said. “You have to face it now, or else you and the rest of us are put in danger. Hiding it protected you for a time, but now it’s won’t. You’re a target again, and we’ve been completely unprepared.”

“I’m sorry,” Ray said. His voice cracked. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it. Funhaus riling up. Staying one step ahead of us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ryan said firmly. “You didn’t choose to have this power. You’ve done all you can—it’s just that the circumstances have changed. We’ll figure it out.”

Ray stared blankly out over the mountains. His ripped-up grass lay forgotten in a loose fist. A helicopter thrummed in the distance, a small speck rising out of the city. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

Ryan leaned over and kissed him on the temple—just a quick peck. But then Ray twisted around and nuzzled Ryan’s neck, leaned heavily into Ryan and encouraged them both back to recline on the grass. Ray lay against Ryan as though he was trying to press every inch of his body’s surface against Ryan’s. Ryan held him close, felt the occasional tremor as Ray shivered and sucked in a dry sob’s gasp.

They lay like that—Ray with his face buried in Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan on his back with his eyes closed and thinking of nothing except the sun and the wind and Ray’s weight—until the helicopter found them and Lindsay yelled from the co-pilot’s seat to get in.


	27. In Which the Fakes Discuss What Must Happen to Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around this long everybody <3 We gettin' juicy now.

“We have to eliminate him,” said Geoff.

“Absolutely not!” Ryan cried.

“Oh, so you want the whole world to know you’re the Vagabond?” Jack said. “Because that’s what will happen, Ryan. Jon has no reason to keep your identity a secret.”

Ryan paced across Meg’s living room as the rest of the Fakes watched on. It was the rest of the main Crew, as well as Lindsay. Michael lounged sandwiched between Lindsay and Gavin on the couch, and Jeremy took the armchair. Jack and Geoff also remained standing, and Ray perched on the edge of the coffee table.

“I was careless!” countered Ryan. “I drove him to this, and this is the consequence I have to deal with.”

“There’s more than one way to deal with this!” Jack snapped. “We have to remove him from play, one way or another. If you want, we can kidnap him—”

“For fuck’s sake, Jack!” Ryan said. “I can’t eliminate him for something I made him do! He’s my friend!”

“Is he?” Ray asked quietly from his perch. Ryan stopped his pacing. “After all that?”

“I…” He hesitated. _I just wanted you to tell me the truth._ “I think so, yes. Yes! I think he is—but he won’t be if we really _do_ fucking ‘eliminate’ him!”

“It’s time to push _back_ , Ryan!” Geoff roared. “That means securing your identity. Jon is a _liability_ to you.”

“He’s not!” Ryan insisted. His fists shook with hot anger. “He’s just…”

“Just _what_ , Ryan?” Geoff snapped. “What is he if he’s not a liability? He knows both of your identities and feels pretty damn backstabbed. People like that _share_ that information. Even if you change your name, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jon possessed the skills and tools to find you again. Especially if he’s working with Funhaus now!”

Ray got up from his perch and stood in front of Ryan, reaching up and smoothing his shirt’s collar—using it as an excuse to lean close. “Please consider it,” he said softly. “This is putting you in more danger than necessary. You might have us to help, but if this becomes a manhunt, you won’t be Ryan Haywood anymore. You would only be the Vagabond. That’s not what you want, right?”

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. He gripped Ray’s arms, just to have something to hold on to. He hated that they were right. That Jon was currently a liability. But Jon was just… hurt. He was _hurting_. He couldn’t bring himself to kill an old friend for that.

“If you want to work with us…” Geoff said, taking a deep breath and visibly steeling himself. “If you want to live the life you currently lead, you can’t hold on to sentimentality like this. If they’re not a Fake, they’re a liability.”

Ryan glanced away, stared at his feet as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “Let me talk to him first,” he said to the carpet. Jon’s broken window flashed across his vision. “I need to—we need to have a proper chat. I need to have the chance to make it up to him—to fix this. I can’t just shoot my friends away.”

“You totally can. We do it all the time,” Michael said.

“Christ,” Geoff swore under his breath. He shook his head and stalked across the room towards its exit. He paused were the living room carpet met the entrance hallway hardwood. “He’s unfortunately a highly valuable contact with his skills and position— _if_ he can be swayed. You get _one_ chance. Convince me he’s not going to be a danger to you or us. If you fail, we put out a hit. Understand?”

Ryan sagged. “I understand.”

“Enough about this loser,” Michael said, waving his lazily from where he sprawled. “What are we gonna do about Ray?”

Silence draped like a heavy blanket, and the spotlight was on Ray now. Ray kept his eyes focused on Ryan’s shirt.

“What about him?” Ryan asked slowly.

“You’ve been calling him the angel or some shit,” Michael said. “What does that mean for us? And what the hell does that mean _you_ are? Like, can you heal and fly too?”

“I… haven’t tried,” Ryan admitted.

“Try it,” Gavin piped up. “You’ve seen Ray do both now, right? You’ve seen how the spells work.”

Jack sighed. “It’s not that _simple_ , Gav…”

“I guess,” Ryan said with a shrug. He looked at Ray, who silently held his gaze. Jack stared at him. “I could give it a shot.”

He struggled to remember Ray’s flying spell—he hadn’t even seen it unravel, since he had been rolling around on the dirt. He vaguely remembered the weave, so with some trial and error, he could probably replicate it. But he remembered Ray’s small healing _perfectly._

He closed his eyes and tried both. He reached for his magic, let it flood him, then tried to weave a copy of Ray’s spells. Every time he got close to completion, though, the ends unraveled, unable to hold together with the strength he had. For his last attempt, he poured all he had into it, which resulted in his gut wrenching and him nearly throwing up.

“Guess not,” Michael said, unimpressed. Ryan scowled. Ray slipped his arms under Ryan’s and stepped closer, allowing Ryan to hug him to his chest. Ray seemed weary—he must be exhausted after both flying and healing.

“It’s an important line to draw,” Gavin noted. “Thanks for trying, Ryan.”

“So Ray can fly,” Lindsay said. “And heal. And do basically anything. And Funhaus wants to control that? What are we gonna do?”

“Our next step is figuring that out,” said Geoff. He snapped his fingers and pointed. “I want Ray, Jack, and Michael with me, now. Everyone else, stay on the down-low. We don’t want unnecessary attention until we know what we’re doing. Ryan, use this time to go see Jon again. Take Jeremy with you for protection, but otherwise you shouldn’t be packing anything that would get you in trouble. Dismissed.”

Geoff turned and left the room, heading for the stairs. Jack, already standing as well, hurried after, but Michael took a moment to peck Gavin and Lindsay on the cheek before getting up. Ray gave Ryan a squeeze, but didn’t say anything else as he went after Geoff.

“Well,” Jeremy said, standing and grunting as he stretched. “No point in waiting around, eh?”

“Ryan,” Gavin said quietly. “Before you go see your friend, you should see this.”

He held his phone out to Ryan, the screen already lit up. Ryan crossed the room and took it. It was a breaking news segment, so the article was very barebones. It was about an apartment fire that had gotten out of hand. Thankfully, there was no reported injury or death, and the fire hadn’t spread beyond the one room, but that apartment was torched. Firefighters had been quick to the scene thanks to a timely call. Candles were suspected to have been the cause.

“Thanks,” Ryan said. His heart thrummed awkwardly in his chest as he handed the phone back. He pulled out his own phone. He dialed Jon’s number—no answer. Dialed again—straight to voicemail. He turned to Jeremy, hands shaking, and said, “The sooner we get there, the better.”

“Sweet,” Jeremy said, grinning. “We can take my motorcycle.

* * *

 

They only waited long enough for Ryan to change his shirt, discarding the torn bloodstained one for a fresh one. He didn’t know what his plan was, but he _knew_ he had to get back to Jon’s apartment as soon as he could.

The trip was quick on Jeremy’s bike. Ryan held onto Jeremy tightly, the cold wind locking his muscles into place until they arrived and parked down the street. Ryan jogged ahead of Jeremy, so Jeremy had to run to keep up. His heart pounded painfully. After all that—even after all that—he didn’t want Jon to get hurt.

They reached the apartment building doors just as someone else was entering it with a key. They slipped in behind the stranger with a nod and a greeting before heading up the stairs. Ryan led the way to Jon’s apartment, Jeremy hot on his heels, and stopped before the door.

Yellow tape crossed over the door, but it wasn’t locked. The frame had splintered next to the doorknob—probably from Adam kicking it open. They ducked under the tape and pushed through, letting the door shut behind them.

The apartment was, as to be expected, a mess. Black wax cooled in amorphous piles along the edges of the room. The couch was a burnt-out husk, the kitchen and coffee tables a pile of carbon with maybe a corner or a piece of leg yet preserved.  The TV was blown out and charred. The pictures on the walls were blackened but somewhat protected by their frames, so they miraculously escaped most of the damage. The smell of smoke still permeated the air, and both Ryan and Jeremy covered their mouths with a sleeve to breathe.

There were no bodies, at least. The report had been right about that.

“Holy shit,” Jeremy muttered. “Your friend’s place got _trashed_.”

“I think Funhaus tipped over some of the candles for some reason,” Ryan said, wandering deeper into the room. “Jon? Jon, you’re not still here, are you?”

Jeremy cackled. “You think he’d stick around?”

“I don’t know!” Ryan protested, scowling. He opened the door to the bedroom. Since the door had been closed, the fire hadn’t spread to this room, and it was largely untouched. Smoke still lingered here as well, though. “I figured it didn’t hurt to try.”

“Oh!” Jeremy blurted, and Ryan turned. Jeremy was in the kitchen, and he held up a blackened, warped rectangle he had found on the counter. “Would this be his phone?”

Ryan blinked. “Yes—that would explain why he hasn’t answered calls…” His hands shook with every heartbeat. “Where would he be? Where would he go?  Is he even okay?”

“Calm down, man,” Jeremy said, raising his hands and striding over to Ryan. “We’ll find him. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Hello?”

Ryan jumped and turned towards the front door. He hadn’t noticed it swing open, but now someone stood in the entrance. He recognized the plump form, the tired eyes—Omar, Jon’s coworker. _And friend of Funhaus…?_

“Are you guys friends of Jon?” Omar asked. He squinted. “Oh yeah! I recognize you. You were Jon’s date to the party the other week. What was your name again? Brian?”

“Ryan,” Ryan corrected automatically. “Is he okay? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him, and when I got here, the door was broken…”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Omar said with a shrug. “He was a bit… out of it for a while after the party, had an accident recently, obviously. But he’s fine now. I’m here to get his phone and laptop.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Jeremy said, holding up the charred phone again. “I think his tech is kind of obliterated.”

Omar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s not gonna be happy about that,” he said flatly.

The shakes from Ryan’s hands seemed to have extended to the rest of his body. The back of his neck flushed hot with a mix of guilt, worry, and rage. _Out of it…_ Ryan’s fault for leaving him alone after the Fakes raided the party. _Accident…_ Also Ryan’s fault, even if he was not the hand that tipped the candles. Now _Omar_ was here, asking for Jon’s stuff, claiming he was fine. Omar didn’t seem to know that Ryan had been here earlier—just that he had been at the party. How much did Omar really know? _And where was Jon?_

“Can I go see him?” Ryan asked. “Since you know where he is.”

Omar crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think he really wants to see you.” After a beat, he added, “I think he’d prefer to be alone, at least for now. Anyway, if his shit is trashed, there’s no reason for me to hang around. Nice seeing you again, Ryan.”

“Likewise,” Ryan said, struggling to keep his tone neutral and pleasant.

Jeremy gave Omar a little wave as he left. Then he looked at Ryan and said, “There’s no reason for us to stick around either. He’s not here, and we have no way to contact him.”

Ryan grabbed Jeremy’s shoulder in a vice-grip—he couldn’t make his fingers grip any more gently. Jeremy yelped in surprise, but didn’t move away. “I agree. Let’s go somewhere else,” Ryan growled, his eye on the door. He had his assumptions, but he wasn’t sure how much Omar knew. Depending on that, there were different likelihoods that Omar would be listening in. “We should brainstorm possible places we could find Jon—people we could talk to.”

Jeremy took a few seconds, just to stare at Ryan, before answering. “Okay… let’s go back home then?”

“Sounds good,” Ryan agreed. Meg’s house was probably the safest place Ryan had access to. “And… let’s not tell Geoff about this. Not immediately.”

“What?” Jeremy said. “Wait, why?”

“I’m worried I blew my only chance,” said Ryan. He let go of Jeremy’s shoulder and gave him a pleading look. “If I can’t find him soon, then I don’t think he’ll, uh—I don’t think he’ll be happy.”

“Oh,” Jeremy said. He nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

When they got back to the house, Mg, Lindsay, Gavin, and Matt were playing Mario Kart in the living room. The others were still hidden away, but they were wedged together on the couch. Right when Ryan and Jeremy entered the kitchen through the door to the garage, Gavin nearly threw his controller into the ceiling and shouted, “Damn it, Lindsay!” Lindsay merely cackled.

Jeremy went for the fridge, grabbing a bottle of beer for himself and a Diet Coke for Ryan. He set both on the island counter and started digging in the drawers for a bottle opener. Ryan leaned on the counter and cracked the Diet Coke open, and the noise caught Gavin’s attention.

“Oi, Jeremy!” Gavin called. “Come join us in Mario Kart! You can replace Matt.”

“Hey!” Matt protested. “Well, fuck you too!”

“That’s alright,” Jeremy laughed. He found the bottle opener and pried his beer open. “Keep playing, Matt! You’re safe for now.”

The living room occupants resumed their activities, and Jeremy propped his elbows on the counter with a sigh. “You think Funhaus took your friend, don’t you,” Jeremy murmured. It was quiet enough that the people in the other room wouldn’t hear him over their game and their own volume.

Heat flushed over the back of Ryan’s neck again. “I think so, yes,” he muttered. “I think when Jon didn’t secure me, they took him. They set fire to his apartment and made it look like an accident. And I think Omar, his coworker, is in on it. So maybe if we go find Omar again, we can…”

“ _I_ think,” Jeremy said, “that you have too much faith in your contact. I _think_ that when you ran out the window, Jon went with _them_ , and is probably toasting champagne or some shit with his little coworker friend. _I think_ that you knocked over a couple candles when you escaped. That’s the most obvious answer, here. There is no reason for Jon to keep your identity a secret. There’s no reason Funhaus would have to take him by force at this point.”

Ryan hunched his shoulders, his grip on his soda can tightening. The aluminum popped under his fingers. That didn’t _feel_ right. But he couldn’t counter any of Jeremy’s points, except with a gut feeling. Jeremy logically made the most sense by having the simplest answer. But Ryan didn’t want to believe it, and he didn’t feel like he could.

“Do you guys really do this all the time?” Ryan whispered. He glanced over at the living room across the hall. Lindsay cheered and pointed at Matt, who put his head in his hands. It must have been a close match between the two. Meg and Gavin just laughed at Matt’s dismay. “Just… kill your friends the moment they strike out?”

“We do,” Jeremy said, “to our _contacts_. If we can’t secure them again. Our friends are here, and if they leave, they run the risk of that, too, yes. We don’t make friends with our contacts for this very reason.”

“So you’re saying you just…”

Jeremy sighed, loud enough to cut Ryan off. “Look, buddy. I know where you’re coming from—I really do. Look. Ray and Michael, they were practically born into this business. Geoff and Jack have been at it for long enough that it doesn’t matter what they did before. But me—I wasn’t born into it. I lived most of my life normally, then one day made a mistake that made me a wanted man on the east coast. So I _get_ it. You don’t want to hurt anyone close to you.

“But you have to _listen_ to us,” he added. He reached over and squeezed Ryan’s shoulder. “The people you interact with outside of the Fakes—you either can’t be close to them, or you have to be prepared to cut them out at a moment’s notice. Otherwise, if they catch on— _when_ they catch on, they can lead the cops or enemy gangs straight to your front door. They can leave traps for you in their own goddamn apartment.

“This isn’t about loyalty. Ryan, this is about your safety—and, to a degree, the Fakes’ safety. Everyone knows this isn’t easy. I think we’ve all experienced something similar. Hell, I know I have. But at some point, you have to decide what’s more important: you, or the other guy.”

Ryan set his soda can down before he crushed it. He rubbed his forehead, his fingers cold from the aluminum. He just felt so _helpless_. He felt like the answer lay just beyond his fingertips, but it slipped away every time he lunged for it.

“I know,” Ryan hissed. “You’re right. Jeremy. I know you are. This is the life I chose, and this is what happens. But I _can’t_. I can’t right now, okay? I want to believe I can save this.” Jeremy’s head dropped when he heard that, as though his disappointment made his neck too weak to hold his head up. “I can’t _do_ this, Jeremy.”

Jeremy pushed back from the counter and straightened, holding onto his beer. He took a swig, then looked Ryan straight in the eye. “I can’t cover for you,” he said firmly. “I know it hurts, but Jon betrayed you, and he _will_ compromise your identity if he hasn’t already. Whatever happens, you need to get used to it. This is how this life _goes._ ”

“But you _said_ ,” Ryan protested. “If you can’t secure them…”

“ _We don’t know where Jon is_ ,” Jeremy stressed. “His phone’s gone. There’s a _really_ good chance he hates your guts right now. He’s very likely hanging out with Funhaus, and Funhaus is likely going to be _very hard to find_ right now. To anyone other than you, this does not sound like someone we can secure again. I’m sorry, Ryan. I really, really am. This fucking _sucks_. But I can’t support you in this.”

Jeremy turned away from Ryan, effectively ending the conversation. He took his beer and strode across the hallway to greet the four gamers, forcing them to scoot over so that he may plop down on the couch too. His expression, his laughter, his friendly jeering—nothing hinted at the serious conversation he just had. Like a switch had flipped.

Ryan pressed his palms into the edge of the counter. He wanted to give Jon another chance. The problems between them weren’t resolved, and he held on to the belief that Jon wasn’t done either. They go back way too far for Jon to be hunted for one action. All the comfort, all the support they had given each other through the years… He _had_ to let Jon have another chance.

He couldn’t do that if Jon was dead.


	28. In Which Ryan Snaps a Picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one! I couldn't resist having this particular cliffhanger at the end ;P

Geoff and the others didn’t show up again until late at night. By then, Ryan had joined the others in the living room, electing to sit on the floor next to the couch. He was satisfied to merely watch them, but they did pressure him to play a couple races—predictably, he was last or near-last in every one, even when Matt pledged not to hit him with red shells (on purpose). None of them asked about his and Jeremy’s trip to see Jon, and he preferred it that way.

Ray was the first to reappear, and he went straight to Ryan, sat down next to him, and faceplanted into his shoulder. Ryan let him adjust into a comfortable position before giving his back a little rub.

“Looks like it’s past his bedtime,” Jeremy said with a snicker.

“I don’t blame him,” Lindsay said, yawning. “It’s past mine, too.”

“And it’s been a long day,” Ryan said quietly. He tilted his head to rest his cheek against Ray’s head. Ray was already breathing slow enough to be well on his way to unconsciousness.

“Well,” said Gavin cheerfully, “if he’s out, then so is Michael. Now where is that bastard…”

As if on cue, Geoff rounded the corner of the doorway and leaned against it with his arms crossed. “You know you guys could have gone to bed at any time, right,” he said.

“Probably,” said Jeremy with a shrug. “ _Or_ we can play video games all night.”

Geoff rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his mouth. Then he grew serious again and looked over at Ryan. “And you. Did you get in contact with Jon again?”

Ryan stiffened, and he felt Ray shifted against his shoulder. The back of his neck prickled, and he felt frozen by Geoff’s blue gaze.

When Ryan didn’t speak up immediately, Jeremy said, “He wasn’t at his apartment. The place had caught fire, so it was pretty trashed when we got there.”

Geoff narrowed his eyes. “ _Did you find him._ ”

“No,” Jeremy admitted. “One of his coworkers showed up for his phone, but he wouldn’t tell us anything.”

“You think he knew?” Gavin piped up. “Did he get the phone?”

“Phone was completely destroyed by the fire,” Jeremy said. “And yeah, we’re pretty sure he knew where Jon is. He at least acted like it.”

“It was Omar,” Ryan said. His face felt hot, and he tore his eyes away from Geoff to stare at the carpet. “The one who brought a Funhaus guy to the party the other week.”

The silence that followed killed Ryan. He wanted to claw at his skin just to make some noise. _Why not lie about it?_ screamed his inner voice. _Why admit that?_ But it would backfire down the road if he lied now—he could feel it. That knowledge didn’t help, though.

“Sounds like it’s time to put out a hit,” Geoff said, his voice steady.

“No, wait!” Ryan cried. Ray jumped at the sudden volume and jerked away. Ryan stood up, leaving Ray blinking up at him. “I need one more try to find him. I haven’t had the chance to use _your_ one chance. Let me go to his workplace. Maybe I can find him there, or at least find Omar again.”

Geoff sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. You can go tomorrow,” he said. “If by the end of the day you haven’t found Jon, I’m putting out the hit. That’s it.”

Ryan sagged. He bowed his head. “Thank you,” he managed. Ray reached up for his hand, and Ryan let him grab it.

“I’m doing this as a favor to _you_ ,” Geoff said. “I understand he was incredibly helpful in your… research. But don’t get used to this. If you can’t handle this, you can’t handle being a Fake.”

“Understood,” said Ryan.

“Good night, everyone,” Geoff said, giving a little wave. “Don’t stay up too late now.”

Ryan watched Geoff leave, heading for a room upstairs. Ray bumped his head against Ryan’s leg to get his attention.

“What’s up, sleepyhead?” Ryan asked.

“Take me home,” Ray mumbled.

Ryan glanced up. “Is that… okay?”

Jeremy snorted. “Hah! Yeah, I’m headed to my own place too. Meg’s house is nice, but I miss my bed.”

“Plus it’s crowded with everyone here,” Gavin grumbled. “Everyone always has to use the bathroom at the _same time_.”

“That’s choice,” Matt said, raising his eyebrow. “You’re the one who takes the longest here.” Gavin wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at Matt.

Ryan chucked. His heart thrummed in his throat, but he hid his excitement. He had never seen Ray’s place. “Alright then,” he said. “We can go.”

“You probably shouldn’t go back to your own apartment, Ryan,” Matt added. “Not until we know how much information Jon spills.”

Ryan winced, but Ray gave his hand a tug. “That’s why he’s _taking me home_ ,” Ray grumbled.

“Oh,” said Ryan. Giddiness bubbled up in his chest, a warm fuzzy feeling. “Of course.”

Gavin cackled, rocking back and squealing. “You two are gonna give me a bloody cavity!”

* * *

 

Ray’s apartment was, somehow, even smaller than Ryan’s. The entire floor was hardwood. There was a small kitchen area to the left and a door to a bathroom to the right. A square glass kitchen table stood a few paces in front of them, and beyond that against the far windowed wall was the queen-sized bed, a wall closet next to its head. At its foot was a wooden end table that effectively separated the sleeping area from the relaxing area, which was a loveseat couch, a narrow black coffee table, and a widescreen TV nestled into the wall.

Except for the bed, the rest of the furniture was just mismatched enough that Ryan suspected Ray picked them up from used stores—or just didn’t care about style. However, Ryan spotted amenities that definitely hinted at more wealth. The TV was top-of-the-line, and the kitchen had a sleek toaster oven and refrigerator that looked high-end. Ray had a couple of large posters framed on the white walls, and upon closer inspection, the frames were solid and nicer than those ten-dollar plastic frames. Most notably, however, was that everything was spotless.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Ray said, kicking off his shoes.

“No, it’s wonderful,” Ryan said. He made his way over to the window and peeked through the closed blinds. The view admittedly wasn’t much—it was high off the ground but looked almost directly at the building next to it, so it was mostly brick wall. “It’s so cute!”

“Oh, well…” Ray scuffed his heel against the floor and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad you like it. Listen, I’m… pretty tired. And Geoff is expecting us both back earlier rather than later.”

“Oh?”

Ray shrugged. “He doesn’t want you going to your usual places, because of Jon. And he doesn’t want me alone in case Funhaus manages to find me.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Ryan said. He strode across the apartment to Ray. “Sure. I’m ready to sleep. It’s been a long day and I have to find Jon tomorrow, so…”

Ray glanced away, but then reached for Ryan’s hands and held them both loosely between them. “Ryan,” he said quietly. “What do you plan to do exactly? Tomorrow, I mean.”

Ryan’s mouth twisted as he scowled. “I’m going to Jon’s workplace. I just need to talk to him and fully apologize. Make it up to him somehow.” He gave Ray’s hands a light squeeze. “Look, I know how you really feel about that, but I really need someone on my side. Please? Please have faith in me, Ray.”

Ray bit his lip and met his eyes again. “Why do you think this is possible?” he asked. “I just—I don’t understand.”

“Well…” Ryan struggled to logically explain his gut feeling as Ray searched his eyes. “It’s mostly just a feeling. But it’s just… some of the things he said during our confrontation… some of the things he did. He seemed like he only wanted to make sure I wouldn’t get out of it again. I don’t know, I just… I have this really strong feeling.”

Ray stroked his thumb over Ryan’s knuckle. “I’ll come with you tomorrow, then,” he said.

Ryan could tell Ray still didn’t fully believe in him But all that mattered was that he was trying. So Ryan tilted his head down to rest his forehead against Ray’s and smiled.

* * *

 

Ryan awoke to discover sunlight streaming through the closed blinds. It was warm and he didn’t feel like moving just yet, but he rolled over to look at Ray still sleeping next to him. Ryan was content to just look, content to coast the border between alert and drowsy.

He remained this way until Ray, too, woke up, his eyelashes fluttering as he shifted and pressed his cheek into the pillow. Ray stilled again as he looked back at Ryan. He reached over and ran his fingers over Ryan’s rough, scratchy beard, tracing his jawline and rubbing his thumb over his chin. It was almost as though he was surprised to see Ryan there and wanted to make sure he was real. Then he scooted closer, snuggled against Ryan’s chest and nestled down again.

“Are you really going back to sleep?” Ryan asked, resisting the urge to laugh.

“Maybe.”

“But it’s morning, Ray.”

“But it’s comfy, Ryan.”

Ryan did chuckle then. He stroked Ray’s back a few times before gently extracting himself and sitting up. As he took a moment to stretch and yawn, Ray grumbled and pushed himself up too.

“I don’t think I have any food here,” Ray mumbled, rubbing his eye. He leaned over and rested his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “I think there’s still coffee, though.”

Ryan laughed. Ray had closed his eyes again. “Did you sleep well?”

“No,” Ray admitted. “Kept having nightmares.”

“About what?”

“I dunno. Everything. Nothing. I don’t remember most of it.”

“Well, then,” Ryan said. He felt a little guilty—he had slept soundly through the entire night. He nudged Ray so that he’d sit up again and ruffled his hair. “Let’s go to some breakfast restaurant and then head over to Jon’s workplace.”

Ray grinned sleepily at Ryan, then grabbed Ryan’s face. “That sounds nice. But maybe in a little bit…”

Ryan let himself be pulled closer, more than happy to oblige to the kiss. Ray dragged Ryan back down to the bed, and Ryan deepened the kiss. Heat rose to his cheeks, and Ray moved against him in a rhythm. He could feel his pulse beat in every part of his body, heard his heart in his ears.

Ray broke the kiss, red blooming in his cheeks. “Getting a little frisky, there,” he said, removing Ryan’s hand from his upper thigh.

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat and he withdrew, sitting back on his knees and blushing furiously. His heart was still pounding, and mentally he willed it to slow. “Oops,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Ray mumbled, glancing away.

“I’ll, uh,” said Ryan, “go take a shower. Look up some restaurants nearby?”

“Okay,” Ray agreed.

Ryan leaned forward and kissed Ray’s forehead, a motion that Ray leaned into, before he got up and headed for the bathroom. He used the shower to cool off, turning up the heat and letting himself relax under the steady stream.  He couldn’t wash away the guilty feeling though; he had forgotten himself for a few moments and made Ray uncomfortable. Fucking _idiot._ He shook his head and let the shampoo rinse out of his hair.

When Ryan came out of the bathroom, Ray was still lying on the bed, one his stomach with his head turned away from the rest of the room. He lay very, very still—a casual observer might think he had fallen back asleep, but the scene tickled Ryan’s mind.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Closer now, he could see how tense Ray was, how stiff his back was. He dug his thumbs into Ray’s back, massaged between the shoulder blades before moving his hands up towards the neck. He did this until he felt Ray relax under his hands, and after a minute or two, Ray sat up again.

“I can’t hide anything from you, huh,” Ray muttered. Ryan’s mouth twisted. Ray wouldn’t meet his eyes, and his hands toyed with the sheets.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to,” Ryan said. “ _Talk_ to me.”

“I just…” Ray reached for Ryan’s hand and held it in both of his. He stared at Ryan’s knuckles as though they were a fascinating sculpture and traced over the skin. “I want to be someone you deserve.”

“You _are_ …”

Ray’s shoulders hunched up, and his grip on Ryan’s hand tightened. “I’m sorry,” Ray said. “You asked, and I’m—scared. Of a lot of things right now, really. But I want you to be happy.”

“ _You_ make me happy,” Ryan said. Ray whined and let his head droop onto Ryan’s shoulder. “It’ll all be okay. Just focus on the positive right now, okay? Like the hot chocolate I’m gonna buy you for brunch.”

Ray snorted, and Ryan felt him smile against his shirt.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I’m helping you with this,” Ray grumbled. The floor numbers on the interior of the elevator ticked by, and Ray glanced at Ryan. Ryan knew the complaint was in jest—normally he would jab back, but his mind felt like a pen full of spooked rabbits. When he didn’t answer, Ray slipped his hand into Ryan’s and gave it a tight squeeze.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to a classy white and blue hallway. Directly in front of the elevator were the glass doors leading to the magazine’s office, well-known blown-up covers hanging on the walls in frames. The front desk, its back to an empty conference room, was vacant, but Ryan didn’t hesitate. He strode down the hall and pulled the doors open.

He walked up to the front desk, Ray right behind him, but he didn’t see a bell or a sign or anything else. He glanced to the left and right. Cubicles blocked most of his vision of the office, but he could still see where the wall turned, and could still hear the ambient noise of computers and printers.

Just as he started to wonder if he should amble around or something, two people rounded the corner of a nearby cubicle, chatting and laughing together. They stopped their conversation when they saw Ryan and Ray. Ryan vaguely recognized them—one was a well-built man with a deep voice and a resting glare, and the other was a short woman with long black hair and dimples in her cheeks.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the woman as they approached. “Our secretary is out right now. Can we help you?”

“I’m looking for Jon,” Ryan said. “Jon Risinger? He’s my—my friend.”

The man frowned, scratching his stubble. “Oh yeah, I think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’ve stopped by a couple times,” Ryan said with a shrug. “We get lunch sometimes.”

“Oh yeah!” said the woman. “You must be Ryan then! He mentions you a lot. I’m Mariel; this is Tyler.”

“Oh!” Ray said suddenly. Ryan glanced at him. His eyes had gone wide and his mouth had dropped open. “You’re Tyler Coe! You write in the sports section!”

Tyler chuckled. “I do. Guess you like that section.”

Ryan coughed lightly. “Um. Jon?”

“Oh yes,” Mariel said. She patted Ryan on the arm with an apologetic smile. “He’s called out sick. Took the whole week off, and if you ask me, he’ll probably take next week, too.”

Ryan blinked. “Why?”

Mariel crossed her arms with a huff. “He hasn’t been acting right since he and Omar got back from that gig with the tech guy. Real quiet and skittish. Didn’t even get excited as usual when someone brought their dog in the other day.”

“Been worried about him,” Tyler added, “but he insisted he was fine whenever we asked. I have his camera though.”

“You do?” Ryan asked. “Why?”

“It’s on his desk,” Tyler said. He shrugged. “Omar brought it back from the party, but Jon left it here. Maybe you could give it to him, if you’re gonna see him. He’s probably just bundled up at home.”

“We’ve been meaning to stop by,” Mariel said, “but we’ve been so busy we haven’t had the chance.”

“I…” Ryan bit his lip and resisted the urge to wince. “Sure. Where is Omar anyway? I need to ask him something, too.”

“Sorry,” said Tyler. “He’s on vacation.”

Ryan’s stomach twisted. “Ah. I see. Do you have any idea where he went?”

Mariel shook her head, and Tyler said, “I think he mentioned camping somewhere, but he didn’t really talk about it. Actually, it was kind of short notice.”

“Oh.” Ryan glanced at Ray again. He felt miserable, and it must have shown on his face because Ray put his hand on Ryan’s back and gave it a little rub. “Well, I’ll—I can take Jon’s camera then. I’ll take it back to him.”

“Alright, cool,” Tyler said. “Wait right here, and I’ll get it for ya.”

Tyler turned and headed back for the cubicles. Mariel ran her fingers through her hair, then said, “So how long have you known Jon?”

“Few years now,” Ryan said. He was trying desperately not to panic, and concentrated on the motions of Ray’s hand on his back. “We became friends at our last job together.”

“Ah, partners in misery,” Mariel said, nodding with a smirk. But then she sighed and crossed her arms. “I do hope he’s okay…”

“Me too.”

“I did tell him,” Mariel added, “that he shouldn’t go to that party. I still have no idea why he did.”

“No idea?” Ryan repeated. That meant Jon hadn’t shared any of his discoveries with the magazine. What was he _doing_ with that information?

“None,” Mariel confirmed, shaking her head. “He was anxious about it all that week, then left his camera there, _and_ the place got crashed by the Fakes. What a mess. When you see him, please let him know the whole office has been worried about him, okay? We’ve tried to help, but maybe coming from you…”

“I will.” Ryan bit his lip again, hard enough that he flinched. He glanced over Mariel’s shoulder to see Tyler returning, Jon’s camera in his hands.

“Here,” Tyler said, handing it over to Ryan. Let him know we’ve been thinking about him, alright?”

Ryan slung the camera’s long strap around his neck, then turned it over in his hands. Would Jon have left his camera on purpose, wherever he went? Ryan wasn’t sure. It could be that he left his camera here for safekeeping, too. He flashed a smile at Tyler and Mariel.

“Thank you,” Ryan said honestly. “I’ll go find him. Thank you for your time.”

“No problem,” Mariel said.

Ryan gave them a little wave as he and Ray headed back to the elevator. When the doors closed around them and the elevator started its descent, Ryan pressed the camera’s power button. Ray rested his cheek against Ryan’s arm, and they both watched the screen turn on. It seemed Jon’s coworkers had kept the camera at full battery.

“What’s next?” Ray asked quietly. “He could be anywhere. He doesn’t have like, a second home or anything…?”

“No,” Ryan said. “God no.”

He was at a loss. Mutely, he tapped the camera’s buttons, opened the photo album. His throat felt tight. His brain kept bouncing between Jon’s apartment and the magazine’s office, and wouldn’t slow down to think of other locations.

He didn’t know what he expected to find in the camera. It was actually mostly cleared—Jon had been diligent about uploading his photos. But there were a few recent ones. Mostly of random buildings around town. Ryan stared at each of them, wondering if they held any significance. The elevator slowed to a stop and let them out, and Ryan followed Ray back onto the street without looking up. The photos were all dated to the day or just before the party. Pictures Jon had taken while bored or idle—a few were clearly taken from a window in his office. Some through a car window.

And then the most recent one was… _him._ Ryan. When they shared a car heading to the party. Ryan didn’t recall ever hearing the snap of a camera, but there he was, in a fitted suit, looking out the window of a dark car, a half smile on his face after something Jon had said. Ryan stopped walking to stare. Something powerful slammed into his gut, some emotion he couldn’t name that wrenched at his heart and made his head spin.

“Anything useful on there?”

Ryan jumped and looked up at Ray. He waited patiently for Ryan’s answer, hands resting in the pocket of his hoodie. Ryan blinked and shook his head.

“No,” he muttered. “Not that I was expecting anything…”

They had stopped in front of a restaurant, fancy but closed until dinnertime, their wire tables vacant behind a short fence. A thin crowd wove around them, too large for privacy but too small to be jostled.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ryan said. He swallowed. The camera shook in his hands. “Ray, I’m—I’m lost.”

“We’ll…” Ray licked his lips and stepped closer. “We’ll find him. We’ll think of something.”

“Geoff’s gonna kill him,” Ryan moaned. “There’s no way to track him—is there? Or maybe we can fly around…”

“No way,” Ray said. “Jack thinks using that much magic would make us a beacon. And no, you can’t track anyone magically without something to connect the dots, like blood.” Ray hummed a moment, looking around the street as if trying to find solutions in the architecture. “Why don’t we walk around a bit. Clear our heads. We’ve got some time.”

“Not much,” Ryan replied, but when Ray started walking, he followed.

He didn’t pay much attention to where they went. Deep in thought, he mostly focused on Ray and the ground in front of him. Ray looped his arm through Ryan’s so they walked side by side. After a while and before he knew it, the concrete sidewalk turned to grass, and they had arrived at the park.

“When was the last time we went to the park?” Ryan wondered aloud.

“Few months, I think,” Ray said. He walked backwards for a few moments so he could look at Ryan at the same time. “Before you joined us. Feels like fucking forever.

“Yeah…” They strolled down one of the paths, dipping in and out of the shade of the trees. The air always smelled fresher here. Ryan inhaled deeply. “Takes me back to when we first met. I thought you might have been homeless.”

Ray snorted. “I watched you make stupid fucking faces at a baby for like ten minutes!” he said, then started to laugh at the memory. A smile tugged at Ryan’s lips. Impulsively, he brought the camera up and _snapped._

Ray’s face fell almost immediately. “Dude. Seriously? You know I don’t want—delete that.”

That was it. It was something so small, but Ryan felt something in him break like the final support beam holding up a roof. All of the stress, all of the anxiety of the last couple days crashed into him full force. He stopped moving and started to cry.

“Oh, Ryan, I…” Ray muttered. Ryan let the camera hang from his neck by its strap and hid his face. He felt Ray’s gentle touch on his arms, but he focused on wiping at his eyes furiously. He didn’t want to cry at the park. In public. In front of Ray.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan gasped. “I know you don’t want records of your face. I understand that, now.”

“It’s okay,” Ray said softly. “I didn’t realize—you can keep it.”

“I just wanted to capture something,” Ryan whispered. Ray finally succeeded in pulling Ryan’s arms down, and Ryan let himself be pulled into a hug. “I just wanted…”

Ray shushed him, nuzzled his shoulder and rubbed his back.

“It’s okay” he said again. “It’s important to you. I get it. Just… don’t keep it on the camera or upload it anywhere, ya know?”

Ryan pulled back and sniffed, nodding. He could breathe regularly again. Ray thumbed the last bit of wetness from his cheeks.

“I won’t,” Ryan agreed. He let out a dry laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. That was stupid…”

“You’re way fucking stressed, dude,” Ray said crossly. He frowned, and Ryan nodded again.

“Yeah,” Ryan admitted. Warmth was creeping up into his cheeks now, and he wiped away the last stubborn tears that welled up. “I guess I am…”

“We’ll find him,” Ray said. “We’ll find him and you’ll make it up to him. Can you think of _anywhere_ else he might be? Some places he goes to a lot?”

“I guess there’s a few places we could try…” Ryan mumbled. He sniffed again. Would his damn nose clear up already?

“It’s better than nothing,” Ray said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“I need more time!” Ryan said.

“You’re _out_ of time!” Geoff roared. He paced back and forth across Meg’s living room, and Ryan stood in the center, his face hot and his fists trembling with restraint. Ray perched on the table again, and the rest of the Crew seated themselves on the couch or pressed themselves against the wall.

“Geoff…” Ray said quietly. “Give him a few more days. We haven’t had the…”

Geoff rounded on Ray. “I’m disappointed in you,” he snapped. Ray flinched as though he’d been struck. Ryan seethed, and it took all his willpower to not physically lash out. “It’s great that you want to protect him, but he has to learn it sooner rather than later!” Geoff strode up to Ryan, jabbed a finger into his chest. “This is what this life is _like_ , Ryan. People betray you. If they’re not a Fake, they’re not loyal to you. I’m sorry you had to learn this from someone very close to you, I really am! I don’t want to do this either. I’m doing it to protect you and the rest of the Fakes!”

“It’s happening too fast!” Ryan insisted. “You haven’t given me enough…”

“ _You never had that time to begin with!_ ” Geoff cried. “He could have given all your information to every police station in the fucking city by now. He could have personally given your photograph to every fucking officer on duty.”

Ryan swept his glare over the rest of the Fakes, seeking support. Ray’s eyes were hard, angry, but he was staring at the carpet. The others—Michael, Gavin, Jeremy, they watched with sympathetic expressions, but it was just pity. Jack merely shook his head when he met Ryan’s eyes, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Ryan opened his mouth, sucked in a breath and prepared to shout back, prepared to out-roar Geoff until _someone_ listened.

Someone knocked on the front door. Silence fell on the room like a hot blanket, and they all turned towards the door. Had they heard that right? The argument diffused as they all glanced at each other. No one should be knocking, right? All of the Crew was here, and they weren’t expecting any visitors.

Someone knocked again. Ryan looked at Ray, who shook his head, then at Geoff, who shrugged. He made his way over to the door since no one else seemed to take the initiative. The hair on the back of his neck prickled—could the betrayal have tracked him here? He peeked out the eyehole and froze.

“Who is it?” Ray asked.

Ryan looked over his shoulder at the Fakes gathered a few paces behind him, crowding together. Mutely, Ryan swept his hand over his face, using his magic to paint it red and white and black, before turning and opening the door.

He stared at the two men on the porch as a cacophony of shuffling and clicking sounded behind him. Every Fake pulled out a gun and pointed it at the newcomers, who put up their empty hands.

“Hello, boys,” said Joel of Funhaus. Spoole next to him was focused on looking at a spot next to the door. “We’ve come in peace. We’re just here to talk.”


	29. In Which Joel and Spoole Do Some Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> significantly shorter than the last extra-long chapter, haha, but I figured I'd get it out before I spend my last few pre-Christmas days scrambling around trying to finish gifts and doing other commitments. Enjoy! :D

 “What the fuck,” said Ryan.

“Are you gonna let us in?” Joel asked politely, his hands still up.

“Fuck no,” Geoff snapped. “Who do you take us for? Where’s the ambush?”

“There’s no ambush,” Joel said, his voice steady. “No one else knows we’re here.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Ryan scoffed.

“If we wanted to ambush you, don’t you think we would have done it by now?” Joel asked pointedly. Ryan glanced back at the Fakes. “Besides. Don’t you want to know where your little reporter friend is?”

The words hit Ryan like Joel had punched him. He glared, drew himself up to his full height and stepped fully into the doorway, his nails digging into the frame. “What do you know about him,” he growled. “Tell me where he is.”

“Easy, Vagabond,” Joel said. His voice never faltered, never hinted at fear. “It would be preferable to talk inside, away from any prying eyes and listening ears.”

Ryan felt a hand on his shoulder, and he left Geoff pull him back.

“How did you find us?” Geoff demanded. “We have wards in place against tracking people here, and I’m confident none of my boys were followed.”

“Oh, it wasn’t tracking,” Joel said. “Was it, Spoole?”

Spoole shook his head and grinned sheepishly, peeking up from under the brim of his cap. “I saw you guys here,” he said. “In a dream.”

“Funhaus doesn’t know anything,” Joel added. “We’ve come here independently—without their knowledge.”

Geoff snorted. “And why would we believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Joel reasoned. “We’re unarmed. You can check us. We have no backup. I’m a Reg, and Spoole’s basically only an Aug when he’s asleep. It would be far easier to bait you outside, or ambush you in your home. There’s a million better ways to get what we want from you than by sending two unarmed losers. We’re here to talk. Now, can we come inside? I don’t know how long it will be until our absence is noted.”

Geoff turned to look back at Jack, who was tugging at his beard and frowning. After a few seconds of eye contact, Jack shrugged. Geoff sighed and faced Joel and Spoole again.

“Fine,” he said. “Come into the living room. One wrong move, and you’re both dead. Got it?”

“I would expect nothing less,” Joel said cheerfully.

Geoff let them in, and in a few minutes the two Funhaus members were sat on Meg’s couch, and the Fakes formed a loose but armed standing half-circle in front of it. Joel and Spoole wouldn’t be able to easily physically escape now, though they didn’t seem bothered by it. They’d been thoroughly searched twice by both Geoff and Jeremy, and were found to have nothing concealed on them. No bugs, no guns, no weapons or spells or equipment.

Ryan retrieved his mask, pulled the dark latex over his face before returning to the living room. The familiar enclosed headspace narrowed his vision—calmed his focus. It didn’t seem to bother Joel or Spoole at all, but it made _him_ feel better. Ryan stood next to Ray and sought his hand. Ray squeezed it back but didn’t even take his eyes off of Spoole. The two of them were staring at each other—not angrily, not suspicious, just staring as though they were both equally baffled by each other’s presence. Gavin stood on the other side of Ryan, thankfully between him and Geoff.

“So you saw us in a dream,” Geoff repeated flatly. Joel nodded, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Geoff snapped, “I want to hear the one who fucking dreams to explain himself, thank you.”

Spoole jumped, finally tearing his gaze away from Ray. “Oh, uhh…” He glanced at Joel, eyes wide.

“Tell them how your power works,” Joel suggested, “and go from there.”

Spoole hummed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think James already told you this,” he said, addressing Ryan, “but I catch glimpses of… the future, I guess, when I dream.”

“You guess?” Ryan repeated. Spoole shrugged.

“It doesn’t always work out,” he said. “It’s like I see possibilities. It started happening a few years ago, but I didn’t think it was anything more than really intense déjà vu until this past year or so.”

“Have you ever tried to do anything else with your magic?” Gavin asked. He tilted his head. “Cast spells?”

Spoole shook his head and fixed his eyes on a spot on the carpet. “I’ve tried, but it’s hard for me to connect. I don’t _feel_ like an Aug when I’m awake—hell, I would still be convinced I’m _not_ one if it wasn’t for my dreams coming true. That’s not a Reg ability.”

“And how does that lead you to us today?” Geoff asked impatiently. “Why haven’t you found us earlier?”

“It doesn’t work the way I want it to,” Spoole said. “It just… happens. Anyway, I’ve started seeing… _him_ pretty regularly.” He pointed at Ray, who took a step back. All eyes were on Ray, even if it was just for a moment. “Anywhere he showed up for something important, I saw it. So we were able to get the jump on you guys a couple times.”

Ryan nodded. This jived with what he already had figured out. So then… Ryan frowned. He doubted Spoole dreaming about Ray specifically was a coincidence, but he set that thought aside for now. It wasn’t important—Jon was important now.

“I saw you guys here,” Spoole continued. “I saw this house, the street and the number. Saw you guys in the living room—but I didn’t understand why it was an important scene yet. The other ones were pretty obvious. Like you were robbing a bank or something. But honestly… Joel and I had been waiting for an opportunity like this. And I figured—what if _we_ made the scene important.”

“And what makes this scene so important, then?” Geoff asked. “Well—besides the fact that you fucking showed up in the first place.”

“We’re here with information,” Joel said, and Geoff made no motion to make him stop this time. Spoole was done talking and let Joel sweep in with a silver tongue. Ryan watched them both carefully, watched them for lies—something he was sure every Fake was doing right now. “And, honestly? We came here hoping we could help each other. We’re here because of the reporter, and because of our gang.”

“Where is he?” Ryan demanded. Ray squeezed his hand again—harder this time. A warning.

“We have him,” said Joel. “Involuntarily. And that I do not approve of.”

Involuntarily. _Jon was kidnapped?_ Ryan felt sick to his stomach. Why? Why, why, why?

Michael scoffed and adjusted his grip on the shotgun he still held. He stood on the other side of Ray from where Ryan was. “Like you guys haven’t kidnapped anyone before, or held hostages.”

Joel shook his head and held up a hand. “It’s not that,” he continued. “It’s the reasons _why_ we have him.”

“James is _obsessed_ ,” Spoole blurted. He looked at Ryan as he spoke. “He’s obsessed with you and it’s feeding off of the rivalry that already exists between us and the Fakes.”

“Me?” Ryan said. His brain could barely focus, an ambient white noise filling it like TV static, but the oddity, the simplicity of the statement cut through.

“To be fair,” Joel said, “a lot of us are obsessed, to a degree, with you guys. Especially since we know you have an Aug of incredible power. We’re not like you Fakes; we don’t have an appointed or clear leader. So James has taken point on both the obsession with the Aug and the obsession with the Vagabond and the Fakes.”

“How does—how does Jon fit into this?” Ryan said, struggling to keep his voice steady. He glanced at Geoff. No one had tried to stop him from talking since Joel and Spoole had entered the house. He kept expecting someone to hush him.

Joel heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Some… recent events has made us cross paths with a former employer of this Jon. Plus he’s… friends with one of our contacts. So he was already on our radar. This employer has access to tools and machines to help identify and _control_ Augs. Against my advice, we entered into a partnership with this guy. And then when Jon confided in our contact that he knew who the Vagabond was, _we_ contacted _him._ He wouldn’t tell us outright, so we set up an ambush. And when you escaped… we took him instead.”

“I thought he’d crack before we ever managed to sneak out here,” Spoole admitted. “He seemed so skittish and scared when he was brought in.”

“But he still hasn’t told us anything,” Joel said. “He’s been refusing to work with us further. He’s surprisingly stubborn, but honestly I’m not sure how much longer he’ll last, either. But that’s just a small part of it. He’s bait.”

“Bait,” Ryan repeated. He couldn’t feel Ray’s warm hand anymore; his whole body felt numb.

“They think _you’re_ the powerful Aug we’ve been looking for,” Joel said.

“I know you’re not,” Spoole added. “But you’re confirmed unbeatably strong, so that’d be enough for them anyway.”

“And how do you know that?” Gavin said, crossing his arms.

Spoole tapped his temple. “Saw it. Saw his face. Saw his name—James Ryan Haywood. Saw what you call the angel next to him.”

Ryan’s blood turned to ice. Ray started to shake. That meant he was doomed, right? His secret would be out. Michael raised his shotgun, but Jack lowered it back down with a firm hand.

“Why haven’t you told your gang this?” Jack asked. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. Jack, astute as ever, had picked up on the implication before Ryan.

“Because it doesn’t matter!” Spoole cried, rolling his eyes up and sitting back in his seat with a huff. “This whole thing is stupid, and I just want it to end.”

“We’re working with a corporate headmaster,” Joel said. He scowled, breaking his composure for the first time, and Ryan finally sensed how desperate they both were. “We’re obsessing over one insignificant man—no offense. If we don’t put a stop to it now, I won’t be able to recognize my gang anymore. My _family_. Spoole and I—we don’t care who you are, Vagabond. We don’t even care about powerful Augs. We care about the safety and stability of our family. Something I’m sure you can sympathize with.”

“This is blackmail,” Michael hissed. “You want us to help you or else you reveal the Vagabond’s identity and our safe house.”

“Not at all,” Joel said. “I am simply a man of business, and you guys are the most likely ones to get us back on track.”

“Where is Jon?” Ryan asked quietly.

“I do have that information,” Joel said. “But I must state again that they’re primarily keeping him as bait. If they get your name out of him sooner rather than later, then that’s just all the better for them.”

“Tell me,” Ryan begged. He was trembling all over and couldn’t stop.

“Hold up,” Gavin said. “Telling us he’s bait doesn’t make him any _less_ bait. This could all be a part of your ploy to get Ryan.”

“True,” Joel agreed. “That’s why I want to give as much information as possible. I hate to have a man, shall we say, _under our care_ for no reason. I can’t hold your hand without fully betraying Funhaus, but I _can_ give you all the information you need to get in, get Jon, and get out.”

“What’s your end game?” Jack asked. “Say we get the reporter back and Ryan’s identity is safe. What exactly are you hoping to achieve? What concrete goals?”

Joel and Spoole glanced at each other, and Spoole said, “We’re… kind of taking this one step at a time.”

“My current thought is that we go underground for a while,” said Joel. “We make a truce with you guys and stay off your territory, so long as you stay off ours. We’re hoping that with Jon gone and hidden by you guys, we can finally convince our gang to pull out of this deal with the corporate fucker. Shit, if it gets _really_ bad, I might try to convince the others to pull out of Los Santos entirely. Stake out land in a different city. Anything to get out from under the corporates sticky fingers and to stop all this before it gets even more out of hand.”

“I don’t like this,” Geoff muttered.

“Believe me,” Joel said, “I don’t either.”

“ _Give me the information_ ,” Ryan blurted. Ray whispered his name, a caution. Ryan ignored it. “You tell me where Jon is and all the traps they have set for me.”

“So _demanding_ ,” Joel sighed. Then he grinned. “I’ve stashed a Manila folder in your mailbox. It contains everything you should need to know.”

Ryan started to turn towards the door, but jerked to a halt when Ray yanked his hand.

“ _You_ get it,” Ray said. “And open it in front of us.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” Joel said. He got up from the couch, and Michael and Jeremy followed him silently outside. A minute later, they returned, and Joel set the folder on the coffee table, flipping it open with a flourish. “Ta da. Anthrax and trip wire free!”

Geoff, Jack, and Jeremy crowded around the folder, rifling quickly through the sheets. Ryan hung back, his feet twitching with the urge to march forward and shove everyone aside to look at the documents himself. But Ray’s hand still in his steadied him, and he focused on breathing.

“This is a lot,” Jeremy said.

“Some of it is what we’ve already told you,” Joel said. “Now, we should be heading back. I don’t want our absence to be noticed. Will you do it?”

Ryan opened his mouth again, but Ray’s fingernails dug into his hand, and for once he obeyed the warning.

“We can’t answer that,” Geoff said.

Joel’s shoulders dropped, just for a moment, almost imperceptible, before he straightened again. “Of course,” he said. “Of course you can’t. Then, we’ll take our leave.”

“And remember,” said Geoff, “if we have Funhaus up our assholes next, you two die first.”

“Understandable,” Joel said. “Your secrets are safe with us; swear on our lives.”

“Bye now,” Spoole said, getting up from the couch to stand by Joel. He looked mainly at Ray when he spoke. “Good luck in whatever you decide to do.”

They let the two renegade Funhaus members walk out the front door. Through the living room window, Ryan watched them get into a sleek black car with an orange streak across the doors and drive off. Seconds, then minutes ticked by after their departure. Ryan turned back to the Fakes.

“So we’re gonna do it, right?”

No one looked him in the eye.

“Look,” Geoff said. He ran his fingers through his hair, making dark tufts stick straight up. “It’s great that it seems like you were right about Jon. But we can’t risk this trap.”

“With all due respect, Geoffrey,” Gavin piped up, “I think they were as honest as they could be. Wouldn’t it be way easier for them to just forcibly take Ryan if they wanted him? Even if they’re not lying about Jon’s loyalty, Spoole can see Ray and, to a degree, Ryan. There’s no _need_ for them to set up an elaborate trap where Ryan comes to them.”

“Ockham’s Razor…” Jack muttered. “The simplest deduction is often the correct one.”

“Even if I believed you, Gav,” Geoff said, “it’s far too dangerous. Look at these documents. They’re holding the reporter in the basement of a high security building in the middle of downtown.”

“I want to try,” Ryan said. He ripped his mask off and tossed it on the table, and he let the spelled face paint fade. “I have to try.”

“I can’t allow it,” said Geoff.

“He’s being _tortured_ ,” Ryan pleaded.

“He did that to himself,” Geoff stressed. “I’m sorry, Ryan. The risk is not worth the reward. It’s far better for us to just blow it all up using the information Joel gave us. With any luck, your secret identity will die with him. Everyone, dismissed.”

“Geoff!” Ryan cried, but Geoff put his back to Ryan and stalked out of the room. Ryan let go of Ray’s hand to hide his face as he sank to sit on the floor. He hunched over, his face in his hands as he tried to control his breathing. He heard Ray crouch next to him, and felt Ray’s hand on his back.

“Let’s do it,” said Gavin.

Ryan jerked his head up. Along with Ray, Gavin and Jeremy were the only ones left in the room. “What?”

“It’ll be easier with a smaller team anyway,” said Gavin. He grinned at Ryan and held up the Manila folder.

Ryan glanced at Jeremy, too. “I don’t get it,” he whimpered. “Why would you be willing to risk this…?”

Jeremy sighed and crossed his arms, not meeting Ryan’s eyes. “I was wrong, earlier,” he said. “Not everyone gets a chance like this. Your story can be different, and I want to help.”

“I’ve had many friends betray me over the years,” Gavin said. He hesitated. “And I them. When you find someone truly loyal, especially in this lifestyle, it’s worth the risk to keep them around.”

“I’m still not _personally_ sure how loyal Jon really is,” Jeremy added, “but you were right before. And I’m willing to have faith in you about this.”

Ryan nodded. “And you, Ray…?” Ryan asked, turning his head to meet Ray’s eyes. His body felt cold—he dreaded asking this question of him. Dreaded potentially hearing that Ray wouldn’t support him this time.

“I’m with you,” Ray said, without missing a beat. “Always.”

Ryan bowed his head and exhaled, feeling the tension seep out of his neck and shoulders. There should never have been any doubt. He stood, and Ray stood with him.

“What about Geoff?” Ryan asked. “He _expressly_ said no. Even has a different plan for it…”

“That’s funny, Ryan,” Gavin said, examining his nails. “You never seemed like the person to follow Geoff’s law to the letter.”

Gavin looked up from his nails with a glint in his eye, his mouth twisting in a sly smirk. Ryan couldn’t help but smile wickedly back. His heart pounded at the mission ahead—it would be dangerous, yes, and difficult. All while going behind Geoff’s back. But the thrill of the idea, combined with the determination to rescue Jon, filled him with renewed energy.

“Thank you,” Ryan said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“We do,” said Jeremy. “But don’t thank us until it’s over.”


	30. In Which They Make Preparations

“We need to keep this small,” Gavin said, “but we still need to recruit a person or two. We need a ride, and I need tech support. This’ll be too complicated to do quickly on my own.”

“Okay…” Ryan mused. All four of them sat up together in Ray’s and Jeremy’s bedroom in the house. Ryan and Ray sat next to each other on the edge of Ray’s bed, and Gavin and Jeremy sat in desk chairs facing them. They were yet quiet—Michael and some of the others still hung around Meg’s house.

He tried to think about anyone who would like him enough to support this plan. “What about Lindsay?”

“She _would_ be a good option,” Jeremy said, “if she didn’t report directly to Geoff. Same goes for Trevor. If it was a smaller mission, sure, she won’t give a fuck, but something this dangerous, she and Trevor would tell.”

“What about Meg?” Gavin said.

“Aren’t you afraid she’d tattle to Michael and Lindsay?” Ray asked.

Gavin shook his head. “Nah… I think she’ll understand when we tell her. She likes me best,” he added with a grin, “and she’s fond of Ryan anyway.”

“Alright, so Meg’s our main transport,” Ryan said. “Who’d you have in mind for tech support? Trevor’s still out. Steffie…?”

“She’d be too worried about us to let us do this,” Jeremy said. “Even if she might not tattle, she wouldn’t help. _Matt_ , however, owes me a favor.”

“Then what about Michael?” Ryan asked. “You’re his lads, and he doesn’t seem to hate me…”

The three younger men all looked at each other, then said at once, “No.”

“Michael _absolutely_ can’t know,” Gavin said. “Even if he doesn’t try to stop us, he’ll tell Geoff. And Geoff _will_ stop us.”

“He won’t see it our way,” Ray said, quiet but firm.

“Okay, understood,” Ryan said. He didn’t really understand, but the three of them were so confident that he decided to trust them. “So with Meg and Matt, this makes… a team of six. Can we do this?”

“ _Can_ we,” Jeremy scoffed. “Of course we can. I wouldn’t help if I didn’t think we could.”

“We need to get moving, though,” Gavin said. “We need to act before Geoff does, and he’s going to want to mobilize something quick. With our small team, though, we can move faster than him. Come Jeremy, we need to recruit and get supplies.”

Gavin and Jeremy made to leave, but when Ryan tried to stand up and join them, Ray pulled him back down. “They’ll take care of things for now,” he said, “but if you’re going to be doing this, you can’t just keep fucking around with your magic.”

Ryan’s face warmed. The door to the bedroom swung shut again, leaving him and Ray alone. “What do you mean…?”

“You’ve been ignoring it,” Ray said crossly, frowning. “Your control over it is shaky at best. It’s not a crutch for when you’re in a tight spot—if you think of it like that, you won’t be able to use it when you need it most.”

Ryan winced. He didn’t need Ray to remind him of that.

“It’s a _part_ of you,” Ray added. “Not just a tool like your knives.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan said, letting his head drop. “What do you want me to do?”

Ray nudged Ryan’s head back up with a light finger, his thumb stroking over Ryan’s chin. “You need to really _feel_ the magic,” he said. “Embrace it.”

“ _Embrace_ it _,_ ” Ryan repeated, scrunching his face up.

“ _Trust_ me,” Ray pleaded. “I’ll help you, but you _need_ this understanding. Everyone else running around out there has fucking _years_ on you. Magic is already a part of them, but you don’t have that.”

Ryan sighed. Ray was right, of course—he still thought of it as this separate entity that he just happened to tap into sometimes. It was too easy for it to slip from his grasp. Sometimes he could use it first try, but other times… He shivered.

“What do I need to do?” Ryan asked.

Ray pulled his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Ryan mimicked him, facing him with his back to the headboard. “Close your eyes,” Ray instructed, grabbing Ryan’s hands and holding them loosely. “I’m not telling you anything new. Feel your magic again, let it fill you and just hold it. Hold it as long as you can, and get used to how it _feels_.”

Ryan focused on the warm buzzing in the back of his mind. He hesitated. His whole body wanted to recoil from the idea of just… _holding_ the magic. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, the idea repulsed him. He wanted to _use_ it. But keeping it all inside, otherwise inactive, burning, yearning… He trembled at the thought.

Ray squeezed his hands, and Ryan took a deep, shuddering breath. With Ray there, Ryan could calm down. _Just focus on Ray’s hands_ , he told himself. _It’ll be fine._

He took a deep breath and let the light fill him. The magic leaked into his whole frame, filling him with energy. This was pleasant, he thought. This was fine.

“Good,” Ray said. “That was easy, wasn’t it? Hold on to it. Listen to it.”

_Listen?_ There wasn’t anything to listen to. He let more fill him, let the sweetness, the giddiness warm under his skin. Or, he thought, beginning to tremble, maybe there was too much. Ray squeezed his hands again, but Ryan couldn’t stop shivering this time. He held so much, and more just kept pouring in. He couldn’t figure out how to stop taking on more. It wanted to be used. It wanted motion.

He realized, very suddenly, that he did not truly know how to control this power. His hand burned and twitched as though trapped. Sometimes, his desires just happened to align with it.

The magic in him broiled, curled like black oily smoke. His throat itched. He tried to take a deep breath, but the air rattled, and he had to cough. He couldn’t stop. He was scrambling, but trapped in a vat of churning energy. It burned and scratched at his skin. He knew faintly he should try to grab some of it, hold on firmly, but it was like trying to find a handhold in an ocean. He wanted to scream, but there was only smoke and panic. It wouldn’t stop.

There was a tightness coiled around his chest. Warm, solid. He focused on it, let it pull him back to earth until the magic released him with a snap and a shuddering gasp.

Ray released him from his embrace. Ryan leaned over and coughed, doubled over and hacked up black smoke as Ray rubbed his back. When his lungs were clear and the smoke had dissipated, he stayed hunched up and gripped his hair.

“I can’t do this,” he groaned. His eyes stung.

“What’s the problem?” Ray asked.

“I can’t just… _hold on to it_.”

“Why?”

“I just…!” Ryan straightened and threw his hands down. “I can’t! If I just let it sit there, I’m—I—I get trapped. I can’t stop and I just—fill to bursting.”

He looked at Ray, pleading silently that he understood. Hell, _Ryan_ barely did. Ray slid his arms around Ryan’s shoulders and hugged him, stroking his back with a steady rhythm.

“Other times you used magic without panicking. What’s different now?” Ray inquired.

Ryan sighed and nestled his cheek against Ray. “Other times I can—I have a purpose to it. I’m _using_ it for something, so I can direct it. This time I’m just… it’s just _there_.”

“You’re afraid you’ll burn up,” Ray said softly, echoing words Ryan had said not too long ago.

Ryan nodded, closing his eyes. “Aren’t you?” he asked. “Aren’t you scared you’ll take too much and it’ll rip through you?”

Ray took a second to answer. Ryan could feel his breath skirt across the back of his neck. Ryan sagged against him, sinking his weight against Ray.

“No,” Ray admitted. “I know how much I can handle at once, and I know how to stop.”

“Teach me,” Ryan pleaded. “Ray…”

Someone coughed at the door, a quiet and polite _ahem._ Ryan and Ray separated to see Michael peeking in. He cleared his throat again and nodded once at Ray.

“Geoff wants to see you, Ray,” Michael said. “Now. In the master bedroom.”

Ray sighed, his dark eyes meeting Ryan’s. “We’ll continue this later,” he said. He cupped Ryan’s face in both hands and kissed Ryan’s forehead before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and exiting the room. Ryan took a deep breath, gently touched the spot Ray had kissed. He had done that to Ray several times before, and now he was on the receiving end. It felt nice. It felt like Ray was keeping him safe. Ryan smiled. What a warm, fuzzy feeling…

Michael was still hovering at the door. Ryan’s cheeks flushed as he dropped his hand and straightened his back. “Oh, did you need me for something?”

Michael stepped in, closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “I just wanted to say, like… I’m glad Ray has gotten over his fear of romantic shit. He was stressed out about it for way too long, but you both seem really happy together.”

“Oh.” Ryan frowned. “I don’t know if he’s… ‘gotten over it,’ but rather decided the risk was well worth the reward.”

Michael frowned too, but then shook his head and shrugged. “Either way. I’m glad. Thanks.”

Michael scuffed his heel on the carpet. Ryan raised an eyebrow and waited; Michael had something else to say.

“You’re not going after him, are you?” Michael asked.

“Who?” Ryan asked, knowing full well who.

“Jon,” Michael replied. “Your friend.”

“No,” Ryan lied.

“Seriously?” Michael said. “You’ve been—you were so fucking desperate to go after him.”

Ryan schooled his expression. He furrowed his brow and stared at his hands in his lap. “It’s too risky,” he said. His words tasted like poison. “The Crew is more important than him.”

Michael nodded. He hesitated, cringing. “I know it’s hard, man. And honestly, it doesn’t really get any easier. There’s really no other way to learn that you have to place your trust carefully.”

“Thanks.”

Ryan stared at Michael until he opened the door again without turning around. “Anyway,” said Michael, “I just wanted to, you know, see how you were doing. Listen—if you need a distraction or something, you know how to find me. I should be listed as ‘Mogar’ in your phone if I’m not around.”

“Thanks. Michael,” Ryan said honestly.

Michael nodded and slipped out the door. Ryan felt the all-too-familiar twang of guilt in his gut. He felt like he was betraying a friend again, and _boy_ was he sick of feeling like that. He wanted so badly to tell Michael, even if Michael wouldn’t help. And he even felt guilty about Geoff. Sure they disagreed, but Geoff had done a lot for him. Gave him the mercenary job, and gave him as much time as he could to find Jon again.

He was tired of lying. It was what got him in this situation in the first place.

He put his face in his hands again. He wished Ray hadn’t been called away. He could feel more confident, then, in his decision. Every passing moment, he felt less and less sure he was doing the right thing. He couldn’t leave Jon—not after everything. But he wished he didn’t have to sneak around some of the only people who might have otherwise helped. He wished that, even with Joel’s and Spoole’s help, the odds didn’t feel so stacked against him.

Someone knocked softly on the door. Ryan glanced up, annoyed at the interruption of his own brooding thoughts. Meg poked her head through the door.

“Join me for a walk?” she said. Her voice was not unkind, but there was something stiff about her tone—something controlled.

“Sure…” Ryan said. He got up from the bed and followed her down the stairs and out the front door. She didn’t speak until they were a block or two from the house, and during that time Ryan’s brain jumped to terrible conclusions. The worst one expected her to spin around and shoot him for being a traitor. The best one was her letting Geoff do it.

Without breaking a step and without turning to face him, Meg said icily, “I hope you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

Ryan winced. “I see Gavin has already talked to you.”

“You’re fucking right he did.” This time she whirled around and stopped in her tracks. She go right up in Ryan’s face and jabbed a finger in his chest. “I don’t know how you managed to get half the Crew’s Faces to like you enough to blindly follow you on a suicide mission against Geoff’s direct orders, but you sure did.”

Ryan schooled his face into a neutral expression and kept steady eye contact. “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “They _offered._ ”

“Still,” Meg hissed. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re betraying Geoff and the rest of the Fakes. How do you think he’ll react when some of his most trusted people ignore his decision?”

Ryan couldn’t keep the pain from his expression. “I didn’t _tell_ them to help me,” he insisted. “But _I’m_ going to try regardless. With or without them.” He surprised himself with his own words there, but he wasn’t going to take them back. It was true. Call him a traitor, but his loyalty wasn’t _only_ to Geoff. “Besides, does Geoff _always_ make the best decisions? Surely his orders have been ignored before because the others thought it would be better. _Surely_ you don’t think he’s some flawless leader.”

“No,” Meg agreed. She stepped back to give Ryan just a little space and crossed her arms. “But I agree with him this time. I was hoping that I could change your mind where he couldn’t.”

“You’re not going to tell him…?”

Meg glared. “Your fucking dumb ass roped Gavin into it now, and _someone_ has to make sure he stays alive through all this. Because you’re going to get captured like a moron and maybe kill everyone who helps you in the process. Look, Ryan, I like you. But I’m doing this for Gavin, and no one else.”

“If you help,” Ryan reminded her, “then you’re just as guilty as the rest of us.”

“You don’t know anything,” Meg hissed.

“Why not tell Geoff then?” Ryan taunted. “Why not blow the whistle on the whole operation? That would ‘save’ Gavin pretty quick.”

Meg paled and narrowed her eyes. “I’m in a spot,” she said, “where I’m forced to either betray Gavin, or betray Geoff. And frankly, I think Geoff will understand it better. Just— _why_ are you doing this? Why recklessly endanger yourself and the others for this one man? Who, need I remind you, tried to sell you out. Leave him for dead, Ryan. Save him, and he’ll do it again, sooner or later.”

“He doesn’t deserve this,” Ryan said. “I… I led him to this, and I can’t bear the thought of him dying. He’s innocent, Meg. And I fucked up. I need to at least try to fix this.”

Meg searched his eyes, her brow still furrowed and her lips still pressed tight together. “You’re naïve,” she said finally. “That will get you killed or captured, and who _knows_ what Funhaus wants you for. You’re no good to us if _either_ happens. The risk is not worth the reward.”

“You’re wrong,” Ryan said. He squared his shoulders; he knew his decision was right, now. Arguing about it made him more confident about that. “The others think the same—Gavin, Jeremy, Ray. Even from a strategic standpoint, Jon has connections and is smart enough to know how to use them. You can think what you want, but if you think _I_ don’t know anything, you need to think about what _you_ know, too.”

“You can’t convince me with just words and no proof,” Meg said. “All I see are probable lies and a man too desperate to see them.”

“Luckily, I don’t _have_ to convince you,” Ryan said, baring his teeth in a wicked grin.

“I will get you to and from the location—if you even have the chance to get out,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t expect anything more from me.”

“Thanks,” Ryan droned. “Thanks _so_ much.”

“I shouldn’t be helping you at all.” She shoved past Ryan and started her march back towards her house. “But you guys never learn.”


	31. In Which They Stage a Rescue Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry this took a little longer than I had intended. Had to muse on it for a little while.

Two days later, Ryan held tight to Jeremy as the motorcycle roared in his ears. The black helmet pressed against his skull, and though his visor blocked the wind, he still found himself squeezing his eyes shut. He forced them open again and glanced around to note the other motorcycle’s and car’s locations. Ray was riding alone a little ways back, and when he saw Ryan’s head turn, he flashed a thumbs-up. The car, driven by Meg and carrying Gavin, Matt, and all their tech supplies, kept pace with Jeremy’s bike. It was nearly 3 AM and the roads were empty, lit only by streetlamps and the rare 24-hour mart. Not even the bars were open this late.

Despite the rumble of engines and road, Ryan could still hear the speaker in his ear. “It’s not too late to back out,” Meg said. “Turn around and pretend it never happened.”

Ryan laughed a short, sharp laugh in response. He didn’t care what anyone else did, but he was not pulling out. He _was_ going to rescue Jon, and _then_ Geoff could blow up the building if he wanted.

No one else said anything, so Meg fell silent again.

They road for a few more minutes until Matt announced, “We’re approaching the location. Everyone head to their starting positions.”

The two motorcycles peeled away from the car and wheeled down a couple narrow streets and alleys. As they neared the location, Ray split away from Ryan and Jeremy. Jeremy guided his bike down an alley and killed the engine, nudging the kickstand into place. They would walk the rest of the way and come up on the building from the back. They left the helmets and Ryan donned his skull mask before adjusting the strap of his combat rifle. A pistol was holstered at his hip, and his knives were strapped to different parts of his body. Jeremy checked his pistol, before nodding curtly at Ryan.

The two of them jogged the rest of the distance—a block or two away—and hid around the corner of its neighboring building. They waited. Ryan’s hand twitched against his thigh, and he rolled his neck. He would have come here two days sooner, but Matt and Gavin needed time to hack in, and Jeremy needed the ordnance. He pressed his painted lips together. _Hold on, Jon._

“One sec…” Matt muttered through the earpiece. “And… _looped._ Outside cameras are stuck in a feedback loop. Ryan, Jeremy, you’re free to disrupt the ward.”

Ryan edged to the corner of the building and peeked. The location was a nondescript white office building, the only hint that it might hold something precious being the security cameras over every door and the tinted windows. Unnoticed by Regs (and Augs who aren’t looking too closely) was a magic field, netting over the entire building. It served as a sensor, and would set off alarms of at least seven different qualities if the wrong type of person crossed it.

Ryan and Jeremy were definitely the wrong type.

One of them could probably disrupt it on their own, but it was easier for both to work their magic. Ryan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing on the buzzing in the back of his head. He would edit the netting, lifting it up, and Jeremy would hold it in place until they could slip through the door. The warm magic filled him, and he swallowed the panic that rose up. _Now’s not the time to lose control. It’s like, maybe the worst time._

He reached out with his magic, tentatively prodding the invisible netting coating the building. It was a fine web, intricately spun so your basic Aug couldn’t disrupt it. Ryan ran his magic over it without pressing too hard, feeling how it was woven. He found an edge of a thread and plucked at it, pulling it up and gently nudging the webbing aside.

When it was ready, he didn’t open his eyes or look at Jeremy, but instead merely nodded. Jeremy huffed next to him, and a moment later, Ryan felt Jeremy’s magic arch over the back door of the building. When Ryan let go of his magic, the net rested on top of Jeremy’s arch, leaving the door clear.

“Excellent work, you two,” Gavin said. “Give me ten seconds to disable the physical alarm…” Ryan breathed deeply and exhaled. He wished his hands would stop shaking. “Okay. You’re good to go.”

“Joel seems right about this,” Matt reported. “Doesn’t look like there’s anyone on the first floor here, so you should be safe to enter.”

“Good luck,” said Ray. “All you have to do is get him outside. I’ll pick off anyone who follows you.”

“Thanks, Ray,” said Ryan. He could picture him on the rooftop, sniper set up and trained at the building. He would also have a small touchscreen device, another eye on the cameras to help Matt, especially when Gavin had to focus on hacking. They were covered on the outside. Now Ryan and Jeremy just had to get in and out with Jon, more or less unscathed and preferably undetected.

Ryan swallowed. _Easy._

With a glance around the outside to confirm the area was empty, Ryan and Jeremy hurried across the alley and pulled open the door. As soon as it shut behind them, Jeremy let his spell fall, and the building’s magical ward fell back into place. Just as Joel’s blueprints had said, this door opened into a staircase, mostly metal and concrete. The slightest noise echoed tremendously. Unfortunately, the stairs here only led up—there was no basement access here.

The blueprints they had all memorized told them where the best staircase would be. Towards the middle of the building, at three o’clock in the morning, no one would be guarding it. Ryan hesitated to call it hubris, because it was a reasonable decision in order to curb unneeded manpower and cut costs, but now that he was here, it felt like hubris on their part. Ryan tightened his grip on his assault rifle, and he and Jeremy pushed through a second door into the hallway.

The first floor looked like a stereotypical office building. It was bland, white floors and white walls, and unassuming. Doors they passed peeked into office suites, and they knew from the floorplan that elevators and a front desk resided on the other side of a building in a professionally boring lobby. They had no trouble getting to the staircase near the middle.

Now they had to be a bit more careful. In the silence of this new staircase—carpeted and muffled—Jeremy summoned one of his guns, a bright purple and orange shotgun. Ryan inhaled and concentrated. Ray had shown him how to do his illusion trick, of making attention slide right over him as though invisible. It took Ryan a couple tries to grab his magic, but when he did, he covered him and Jeremy with the spell. It wasn’t as good as Ray’s, but this late at night? It should do the trick. He met Jeremy’s eye and nodded.

They went two floors down and gently nudged the door open. The staircase was dim, but this floor was lit by blinding fluorescent lights. The floors and walls here were white as well, but they were somehow brighter and plainer. It reminded Ryan distinctly of a lab or a hospital, all pristine and clear and bright. It smelled sharp and bitter. Ryan blinked hard and wrinkled his nose.

“Should be clear,” Matt said. “You know where to go.”

“There are a few alarms,” Gavin said, “but I’ve deactivated all of them. I don’t notice any others—Joel and Spoole haven’t lied to us yet. Still, be careful.”

“This place is so quiet,” Jeremy muttered. “This has got to be our easiest job yet.”

Ryan shushed him. “They’re relying on their tech,” he reminded Jeremy. “According to the folder, there’s still people around, but we shouldn’t run into them—so long as they don’t wander.”

Jeremy rolled his shoulders, but they continued walking. Ryan’s ears strained and he couldn’t help but glance all over the place, eyes roving for any sign of movement. They passed a few closed steel doors and another, perpendicular hallway, but they continued on.

One corner of the floor was dominated by a laboratory, and they headed away from that towards the opposite corner. That was where the holding cells were—rooms with reinforced doors and two-sided mirrors. The two of them avoided the hallway with the security office that always had two guards working it and turned down a hallway that had an entirely deactivated security system (and was unpatrolled, relying on such).

“Uh oh,” said Matt. Ryan froze. “No, keep going. There’s some lab coat guys on the other side of the building from you. I can’t see into the rooms themselves, but there’s just a couple in the hallways. They look like they’re leaving—just hurry and they probably won’t even notice you.”

Jeremy prodded Ryan, and they picked up the pace. Ryan was almost at a jog by the time he reached Jon’s supposed holding cell. There was a keycard port next to it with a little red light, but when he reached it, the red light turned green and buzzed. The door slid automatically open, gliding into the wall.

“Good one, Joel,” Gavin muttered.

Jeremy stood to the side and assumed a guard position. The room beyond was dark, and he couldn’t see much beyond the fact that it was bare. The rectangle of light from the door yawned across the room, stretching to the pale back wall. A lone figure was slumped on his side, curled up with his back to the wall, his dark hair shielding his face. He made no movement at the sound of the door opening.

“ _Jon_ ,” Ryan breathed.

He forgot where he was. He bound across the small room in just a few long steps and slid to his knees, letting his gun drop to the ground next to him. Jon wore what Ryan had seen him in last—black t-shirt, dark jeans, converse sneakers, though his blue jacket was missing. He wasn’t visibly injured, but there was some sort of weird metal bracelet on each of his wrists, like thick handcuffs without links. They were pressed together as though welded or magnetized. He hadn’t seen anything like that before, but he’d worry about it once Jon was out and Gavin could look at it. He shook Jon’s shoulder; the man remained limp.

“Jon, hey—hey. Come on.”

The light entering the room flickered as Jeremy peeked in. Ryan ignored him. He grabbed Jon by the shoulders and pulled him up. Jon let himself be dragged up to some semblance of a sitting position, his head lolling. But, he groaned softly—he was conscious, or at least waking up.

“Jon,” Ryan whispered desperately. “It’s me. Wake up.”

Jon’s eyes fluttered open with another soft groan. Ryan grabbed the side of his head, threaded his fingers through the thick black hair and coaxed Jon’s head up to look at him. Jon’s eyes looked at him, but initially they didn’t seem to see him. They were dull, lifeless, and Ryan sucked in a breath. It had only been a few days—Ryan knew he should have come sooner. _But they physically couldn’t have moved any faster._ Not to make the operation go as smoothly as it had. Just a few days, but Jon was just a civilian.

Anger flared in Ryan’s gut and washed hot over the back of his neck. _What have they done to him?_

Then Jon blinked, and his eyes snapped back into focus.

“No,” he moaned. His brows furrowed and his eyes grew wide. “No, no, please…”

“It’s okay,” Ryan said. “Jon, I’m here. We’re getting you out.”

Jon squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come,” he whined. His hands were traveling together, and eventually they felt their way to Ryan’s jacket collar and grasped it. “You shouldn’t—I’m—I’m a trap.”

“I _know_ ,” Ryan said impatiently. Jon’s head dropped forward again against Ryan’s hands. “It’s _fine,_ I _promise._ We’re getting you out of here. Come _on._ ”

Ryan looped his arms under Jon’s and lifted. Jon sagged against Ryan, being the least amount of helpful possible, but once his feet were under him, he seemed capable of standing. He kept shaking his head as he rose.

“I never told them,” Jon babbled. He had let go of Ryan’s jacket when he was pulled up, and now his hands were just held in front of his chest, like he didn’t know what to do with them. Fused together at the wrist, there wasn’t much he _could_ do. Ryan frowned. “They wanted me to tell them everything, but I n-never did. They want you so bad, and I—I—um…”

“I know,” Ryan said. Jeremy watched them from the door, his jaw clenched. He motioned to Ryan to hurry up. “You—you did good.”

“I never said anything,” Jon said. _Jesus fuck_. Ryan gritted his teeth and focused on grabbing his magic. It slipped once from his grasp. He _begged_ for it, so he might break the handcuffs with sheer force. “They wanted to know who—who the Vagabond is, and I—and I never said. I didn’t.”

“Yes,” Ryan said. “Thank you.”

It had only been a few days! Had he really cracked this bad? What had they been _doing_ to Jon? Ryan should have come sooner. He should have stormed the place the moment he had the intel. He should have…

 “You guys can chat later,” Jeremy hissed. “Let’s get _out_ _of here_!”

“Oh fuck,” Matt cursed. “Get out. Get out _now_.”

Ryan’s heart leapt into his throat. He glanced over his shoulder, and Jeremy looked down the hallway. “What’s going on?” Jeremy asked, his hand going to his ear.

“There’s people—I don’t know how we didn’t…”

The lights turned red, and an instant later, the door slammed shut and alarms blared. A red emergency light above the door to the hallway turned on, swathing the room in terrible monochrome. Jeremy shoved against the door from the other side, but there was nothing to grab to pull it open. Jon shuddered and made a noise like he wanted to scream, but his gasp swallowed it. He hid his face in Ryan’s chest.

Gavin screeched, “I’m locked out! The system locked me out!”

“I can’t get to Vagabond!” Jeremy cried.

Ryan felt magic flood him instantly— he reached out on instinct and felt it respond. He channeled it into Jon’s cuffs, and the metal turned red and crumbled off. He shivered, his skin turning hot, but he knew what he had to do. Still holding on to Jon, he twisted to glare at the door. He was breaking out if it took all of his magic.

A door opened in the side of the room—a door Ryan hadn’t noticed. It spilled light into the dark room. He caught a glimpse of a few people, silhouetted in the doorway, before blue light burst from a round floodlight rolled in ahead of them.

Magic had never left Ryan’s system so swiftly before. It was as though he was a ship rushing with sails full of wind, then suddenly the wind died and he was rocking, barely moving. The energy left him in a breathless sigh. He crumpled, fell to his knees. Jon jumped back and pressed against the wall, but remained standing. Ryan felt like he couldn’t move—mostly he couldn’t make his brain command his body for all the shock he felt. For a few seconds, all he heard was his heartbeat in his ears, a shushing pulse that damped other noises like he was underwater.

Sound faded back in again, and he heard someone talk. Gunshots pounded from the other side of the locked door. “Interesting. So that’s how it works on an Aug already holding onto magic. Write that down.”

“What’s going on?” Ray demanded over his earpiece. “Ry—Vagabond, Jeremy, I’ll come in…”

“ _No_ ,” Ryan snapped. He got to his feet, his hands shaking. “They’ve got anti-Aug tech.”

“I can’t—” Jeremy panted. “There’s guards. Vagabond, I’m sorry.”

“Go.” He focused on the people in the second doorway. Two heavily armed people stepped around three people in lab coats, their guns aimed at Ryan. He didn’t blame Jeremy—he wanted Jeremy to save himself. Ryan flung out his arm, taking a step forward, and Jon darted behind him, putting Ryan between him and the other people. His gun was still on the ground. If he dove for it, he wasn’t sure he’d make it.

“Well, _this_ is a lovely surprise,” said one of the guards. Ryan blinked, trying to see clearly past the blue light swathing him. It sounded and looked like Elyse. Jon whimpered behind him. The anger in his core was almost as powerful as his magic. “Your idea finally paid off, Adam.”

“I’m surprised, too, honestly,” said the other guard—Adam. He shrugged. “Didn’t think it would be this soon, too. You must be really desperate to protect your name.”

“Just hurry up and restrain him,” one of the lab coats drawled. “Quit wasting time—it’s late and I want to go home.”

Adam and Elyse advanced. Ryan planted his feet and waited, his heart pounding. It wasn’t over yet. The situation was bad, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. If he could break the light—or even if he could just get the door open, then he and Jon could still get out.

Adam swung with his weapon, the butt of his assault rifle aiming for Ryan’s head. Ryan ducked, slipping one of his knives out of his jacket in the same motion. He slashed the knife up, just narrowly missing Adam’s arm. Adam leapt aside. The movement left Ryan open, and before he could recover, a combat boot slammed into his face, courtesy of Elyse.

Ryan staggered back. Vaguely, he was aware of Jon retreating further away, his breaths coming in short gasps. Then the butt of an assault rifle cracked into Ryan’s forehead—the mask cushioned it only slightly, and white stars popped across his vision. He forgot how to stand for a moment, and before he knew it, the ground rushed up to meet him. His ears were ringing; someone was shouting in his ear.

Adam pushed him onto his back and held him down with a boot to his chest. Ryan grabbed on to Adam’s ankles, but it was more to alleviate the pressure. Adam’s weight was too great to shove off. Elyse crouched down and dug her fingers under Ryan’s mask, her nails scraping against the soft flesh under his jaw. She ripped it off and tossed it aside like it was a piece of trash, then plucked the earpiece from his ear. She straightened, let the earpiece drop, and crushed it under her heel. She stooped once more and grabbed Ryan’s gun.

Ryan struggled to breathe under Adam’s weight. A lab coat, the one who had complained earlier, tossed something at Adam, who caught it one-handed. The pressure on Ryan’s chest increased as Adam leaned down. Ryan struggled, twisted his head away and tried to shove his hands against Adam’s, but Adam went for Ryan’s neck. Cold metal pressed against his skin. A click, a beep, and a metal collar sealed itself around his neck.

Adam got off of Ryan and backed up. He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s done.”

Ryan struggled to get up, though the ground seemed to have a greater hold over his body than normal. The world spun as got his feet under him, and the moment he tried to stand, he stumbled. He felt hands at his back, steadying him. Jon had come up behind him again.

“Great,” said the lab coat. “Let’s lock the doors and get out of here.”

The blue floodlight turned off. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat— _his chance—_ and reached for his magic.

…Except it wasn’t there. He froze. He felt it—it wasn’t like being in a dead zone; the gentle buzzing was there. But he couldn’t reach it. It was like it was on the other side of a window. Even when he normally couldn’t reach the magic because of his own failings, it usually felt like he was plunging his hand into the ocean and trying to grab a fish. Now it was like he couldn’t even _touch_ the ocean.

The blue floodlight was wheeled out of the room by the other two lab coats. Adam and Elyse retreated, waiting next to the door as the lab coat who had been talking before laughed.

“Enjoy your night, Mr. Vagabond,” said the lab coat. “We’ll be back for you in the morning.”

The lab coat retreated into the other room. Adam and Elyse followed suit, and as soon as they were through the door, it shut. They were left in a darkness lit only by the single red emergency light over the door. The alarms were muffled by the walls of the cell.

Ryan fell to his knees. His fingers grabbed at the collar around his neck, panic and fear choking him. He couldn’t find a clasp, couldn’t find any purchase on the smooth metal. It did seem to have a groove around the middle, and a panel in the front, but beyond that, there was no way he could get it off.

“It needs a key,” Jon said quietly. He was still standing next to Ryan. Ryan shivered. “I told you, you shouldn’t have come.”

“I had to _try_ ,” Ryan hissed, tilting his head to glare up at Jon. “I couldn’t _leave_ you.”

Jon hid his face in his hands and screamed into his palms. “I read the blueprints. I saw their prototypes. They’re going to use your magic.”

Ryan stared at him. Use his magic? He clawed at the collar fruitlessly. He could hear his pulse in his ears, feel his heart in his throat. He wanted to cry. He could _feel_ the magic. But it didn’t respond to his calls. He had put himself in exactly the same situation as Jon with no way out. He only hoped Jeremy got out unscathed.

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” Jon growled. He knelt next to Ryan and put his hands around Ryan’s neck. His thumbs pressed into Ryan’s throat. Ryan gasped before his airway was cut off, but he didn’t fight against it. His head pounded. Jon squeezed, forcing the Vagabond back until he was holding him to the floor.  “I hate you. I _hate_ you. We’re _both_ fucked now. _Why did you come?_ ”

Ryan’s vision started to fade. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Jon let go and collapsed on top of him. He buried his face in Ryan’s shoulder as Ryan coughed and heaved for air. Ryan soon realized Jon was shaking, shuddering with barely restrained sobs. He took a few moments to catch his breath before folding his arms around Jon in a sort of awkward, reclining hug. The red emergency light faded and the alarms shut off, throwing them into complete, silent darkness.

“Why did you come?” Jon asked again, his voice thick and strained.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan whispered.

It was all he could think to say.


	32. In Which Ryan Discovers What the Collar Can Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild CW warning for some torture.

Jon couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to pretend Ryan wasn’t there, or if he wanted to never leave Ryan’s side. He pushed Ryan away, only for minutes later to call out in the pitch dark, seeming on the verge of tears, wondering where he was, if he was still there, if he had even been there from the start. Ryan would respond, and soon a hand would find some part of his body, and Ryan would reach for it. Then a few minutes later, Jon remembered that he hated Ryan, and ordered him to go away.

Rinse, repeat.

Ryan wasn’t angry about it. He wished Jon would be consistent, but he couldn’t blame him either. He could only guess what Jon had been through the last few days, so he wasn’t going to judge. In the times when he was alone, though, his hand rarely left the collar around his neck. It was maddening, feeling his magic just beyond his reach. What kind of newfangled torture device _was_ this?

He thought about Joel and Spoole as well. _Had_ they successfully trapped Ryan? If so, he thought bitterly, they could lie to a god of truth. Adam had seemed… genuinely surprised to see Ryan, and seemed to take all the credit for Ryan showing up. It definitely didn’t seem in-character for them to not take the opportunity gloat fully now that Ryan was captured. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that Joel and Spoole had tricked them all, but it did seem like an overly elaborate ploy.

“Are you there?” Jon whimpered, somewhere off to the left of where he sat. It was time again. “Where are you?”

“Here,” Ryan said. “Follow my voice.”

He felt a hand grab his arm, and he placed his own over it. Jon sighed—just a soft exhale, barely audible.

“They told me you’d come for me,” Jon said.

“I know.”

“I told them you wouldn’t. Not after I—um, I—I tried to trap you on my own.”

“I know.”

The hand on his arm gripped tight. It was almost painful. “They didn’t believe me.”

“It seems they were right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan squeezed Jon’s hand. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I drove you into a corner and left you in the hands of Funhaus. I shouldn’t have done any of what I did.”

Jon shifted so he could rest his head on Ryan’s shoulder.  “You should hate me. Why did you come for me?”

“Why did you never tell them my name?”

Jon took a few moments to answer. His head felt heavy against Ryan, and he was quiet long enough that Ryan wondered if he had finally fallen asleep. At last, he settled on, “I don’t know.”

Jon was shivering, and Ryan risked putting his arm around him and drawing him close. In a short while, Jon will probably kick him away again, but for now he felt cold, and he didn’t push Ryan away.

“Tell me everything,” Jon said.

“Everything?”

A hand touched Ryan’s neck, just above the collar, just below the soft flesh under his jaw. “Everything. Why you’re a Fake. Who Ray is. How we got here.”

And Ryan did. He told Jon everything: the not-date at the carnival; the terrifying couple days he spent essentially as the Fakes’ prisoner; getting hired and learning how powerful this job made him feel; his spots of amnesia; the full story of accidentally pushing Ray away; the party and the machine that ripped magic through him; the following recovery and reconnection with Ray; Joel and Spoole’s arrival; and the days leading up to now. The only parts he left out were sensitive information for the Fakes, such as their exact locations, and he left out the specifics about Joel and Spoole, but otherwise, he told Jon everything.

Jon was silent through all of Ryan’s tale. Then, he said, “I hope you didn’t think that rescuing a damsel in distress would make everything better.”

Ryan sucked in a breath. “No—no! Not at all. I wouldn’t blame you if you ditched me the moment we got out. In fact, I sort of expect it. But even if you hate me, you don’t deserve to be in here.”

“Okay,” said Jon. “Good. Because I still hate you.”

Ryan didn’t respond to that. Jon still shivered at his side, though he sensed that it wasn’t really because he was cold now. He had warmed up some, but he still yet shook, his head heavy against Ryan’s shoulder.

“Do you think they’ll come for us? The Fakes?”

Ryan bit his tongue. He wasn’t actually a hundred percent sure. He knew at least some of them would _want_ to, but he just went directly against Geoff’s orders and caused the outcome they all feared and had been trying to prevent. He swallowed the hard lump rising in his throat. He hoped he had proven himself enough of an asset to warrant rescuing, but… He wouldn’t be surprised if Geoff left him for dead and stopped anyone else from trying a rescue mission again. He fucked up, and he didn’t necessarily expect the gang to take another risk for him.

He said, “I’m sure they will try.”

“You _and_ me?”

“Yes.” Ryan answered without hesitation this time. If they came at all, they would get both of them; that much he was certain of. He couldn’t squash the guilt twisting in his gut, though. _Another lie_. It wasn’t… _quite_ a lie—but he needed to protect Jon as much as possible. _Someone_ would try, surely. It was as much a claim for Jon as it was for Ryan himself. “I haven’t given up on getting ourselves out, though,” he added confidently. “There’s two of us now, and I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

He felt Jon poke his side, around where a couple knives were strapped under his jacket. “These won’t get you far.”

“I’m the Vagabond, remember?”

Jon jabbed into his side harder, and Ryan flinched. “You might kill one or two in a surprise, but you won’t get far.”

Ryan hesitated. The vitriol dripped from Jon’s words like venom, and there was an odd emphasis in his sentence. “You’re not—bothered by me killing people?”

“These people,” Jon hissed. “They’re not civilians.”

The room suddenly felt very cold.

“You’re not just their prisoner,” Jon said. “You’re their tool.”

Ryan fell quiet, the words sinking under his skin. He was honestly surprised Jon was still holding on to him, he mused idly. This was the longest he had by far. He expected Jon to shove him away any minute, hating him for trapping them here. But now Jon just leaned against Ryan’s side and let the words hover. A tool… Could they really control him like that? He felt like he could play mind games well enough. They wouldn’t be able to fool him now.

“Vagabond,” Jon whispered, and Ryan held his breath. Was this the turn? The mood swing? “I’m really…” His voice was thick. “I’m really thankful you tried.”

Ryan let out his breath and hugged Jon tight to his side. “I’m not done trying,” he said. “I’ll protect you. We’ll get out.”

Jon sighed. “I wish I could believe you.”

* * *

 

Ryan lay back on the floor, not intending to sleep, but he let Jon curl against him comfortably, sharing his body heat. Jon stopped talking to him, so Ryan listened to him fall asleep, his breathing growing slower and steadier. Exhaustion weighed down on Ryan, too, as the night progressed, but he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t trust this place. He didn’t want to leave himself vulnerable.

Ryan thought about Ray. If Ray had been caught and Ryan was left outside, he knew _he_ would be going mad with fear and worry. He could imagine Ray pacing, cleaning his sniper over and over—arguing with Geoff. Maybe with Michael. He could imagine shouting matches between the Fakes—or maybe it wasn’t loud. Maybe it was barely restrained anger, maybe it was Geoff firmly shutting Ray down, and that was that. No one to rescue Ryan again. No, he’s disobeyed too much, no, he’s not worth the risk, the trouble. _Why would we endanger ourselves to save someone like him?_

 _Because I love him_ , Ray might shout. The Ray in Ryan’s brain did, anyway, and that was what he clung to.

Even if he wasn’t sure what the Fakes were doing, thinking about Ray made something warm settle next to his heart. He tried not to fall asleep, but he must have dozed off, because his visions of Ray grew stronger as the darkness wore on, and he knew he started dreaming.

“Morning” blazed with the flick of a switch. One moment it was pitch black, and the next, fluorescent bulbs burned in the ceiling, bathing the room in white light. Ryan jolted up, his heart racing, and Jon scrambled away from Ryan and to his feet. Ryan stood more slowly, turning to face the hidden door. Unlike the cell’s main door, which was steel and stuck out, this one blended smoothly with the hard, tiled walls with just a small seam to let you know it was there.

Jon stood in one spot as well, dry-washing his hands as he stared at the same door. Ryan’s hand went to one of his knives, but a speaker somewhere in the room crackled to life.

“We’re coming in, Mr. Vagabond. If we see any sudden movement, you will be shot on sight. We know you have knives on you still, so when we open this door in five seconds, we want both hands raised above your head.”

Ryan glanced at Jon, not moving at first. The knife was warm against his hand—

“Do it!” Jon squeaked. His face was pale, his eyes nearly bugging out. “For fuck’s sake!”

He let go of the knife. He jerked his hands over his head just as the hidden door cracked open, swinging into the room beyond.

“Search him. Take all weapons,” a cool voice ordered from behind a handful of guards. It sounded like the man from last night. Ryan recognized Peake as the guard who came forward, but the other two who stood at the door were strangers.

Peake carried a gun, and he jabbed it at Jon—just a threat to make Jon scurry away, a warning so he wouldn’t come too close. Then he nodded at Ryan.

“Take the jacket off,” said Peake. When Ryan hesitated, he added, “I could make you, but I think it would be easiest for both of us.”

Peake’s voice didn’t really hold any malice, and somehow that made everything worse. Either way, his original plan of “use knives and hope for the best” was quickly dashed. He took of his jacket, and Peake examined not only it, but also the rest of Ryan’s person. He was thorough and found every single knife. He even searched Jon, in case Ryan had given him any. Then he took the small pile of knives and let Ryan take his jacket back.

“Enjoy your stay,” Peake said as he withdrew and squeezed past the other two guards into the room beyond. Ryan felt hollow without his knives. His gifts from Ray—his weapon of choice.

Ryan put the jacket back on and zipped it up, suppressing the urge to shiver. He didn’t know what else to do.

Then the lab coat entered the room, and Ryan got his first good look at him. He was scrawny but tall, his head and chin jutting forward like a chicken. His eyes were bright blue and tired, and his hair was a mess of brown. He had a brown sweater vest on underneath his white lab coat. He held a touchscreen tablet in one hand, its screen turned up towards his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Vagabond,” he said. “I hope you had a nice night.”

Ryan clenched his teeth and glared. His nails bit into his palms. The lab coat looked him up and down, tapping a finger on the back of his tablet as though bored or impatient.

“Yes, you do seem to fit the description,” the lab coat mused. “Even the face paint, though it’s muddied. Seems our bait worked—and that Mr. Risinger really did know you.”

“You can’t keep us here,” Ryan growled. “My crew will come.”

The lab coat sniffed. His finger tapped incessantly. “Oh, I hope they do. Because the one they’ll be fighting is you.” He placed two fingers at the bottom of the tablet’s touchscreen and dragged them up, as though raising the volume.

“What—” Ryan cut himself off with a gasp. The collar around his neck grew warm, and magic flickered to life in his core. His heart jumped. He touched the collar with a trembling hand. The magic was filling him—not a lot right now—but he _still_ couldn’t do anything with it. It was like the ocean swirled around his hands, but still refused to touch his skin. Ryan stared at the lab coat, eyes wide.

“Hmm…” mused the lab coat. “Very good.” He pushed his fingers up more on the touchscreen.

Magic flooded his system, filled him to the brim with shaking, jittery energy. His skin turned hot, prickling all over, and he fell to his knees, both hands holding his throat. He felt like he was burning up from the inside out. The ocean wrenched at his gut, trying to drag him out into the open waters.

“S-stop,” he gasped. Smoke trickled into his lungs. “Please!”

“Impressive,” said the lab coat. “You’re already holding much more magic than our test subjects. Are you really as infinite as the rumors say?”

Even more magic poured in. Ryan cried and hunched over, hands gripping his hair so hard the roots hurt. His forehead nearly touched the floor. He could feel the smoke churning inside of him, pushing out through the hot, hot magic. He started to cry. He thought he would burst into flames right then and there.

“Stop it!” Jon shrieked. Ryan could barely hear him over the sound of his own heart. He was drowning, drowning, and he couldn’t even try to swim. “You’re killing him!”

All at once, the magic left him, squirreling away and locking itself once more behind the window separating Ryan from the ocean. It hummed to him, but still he was unable to touch it. He was left sobbing on the floor, coughing up black, acrid smoke. Jon knelt beside him, gently prying his hands away from his hair.

“Fascinating,” said the lab coat. “I’m excited to experiment more with this… I must go back to my coworkers now. You two sit tight, and do consider cooperating as much as possible in the future.” A pause. “Oh, and Ernesto, please go and get new cuffs for them. They don’t have to be activated, but it’s better to just do it now. Bring a rag with you so Mr. Vagabond can clean up his face paint. I want a good look at him when I return.”

The door slammed shut. Ryan lay curled up on his side, trying to catch his breath around his sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whined. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not—your fault,” Ryan breathed.

A guard returned. He stomped across the room, holding new metal cuffs like the ones Ryan had destroyed. Ryan burned with the desire to get up and fight him, but his body refused, and the guard simply lifted Ryan’s limp arms and put the cuffs on with a click.

Jon, meanwhile, went very still and barely reacted, even when the guard yanked his whole arm in order to clasp the cuffs around his wrists. That done, the guard threw Jon back to the ground, then tossed a damp rag at him. Jon managed to catch it.  The guard left, sealing them into the room once more. A moment’s pause, and Jon crawled over to where Ryan lay, holding the rag above the floor.

Neither of them talked for a while. Ryan lay still, and Jon just sat there, his arms wrapped around his knees, clutching the damp rag. There was only the buzzing of the fluorescent light and the buzzing of magic out of reach to distract Ryan. His brain scrambled. He wasn’t in control of the magic that coursed through him—those lab coats were.

He hoped the Fakes would come get them. He hoped at least Jon would be released soon. What would he be needed for now? He was no longer bait—Ryan was _here_. So if Jon could be let go, then Ryan could deal with everything easier. He fixed that idea in his mind. Get Jon out by any means necessary.

He would sacrifice himself here if it meant Jon wouldn’t suffer. Though… it would mean he probably wouldn’t ever see Ray again. Something inside him trembled, threatening to break, but he sucked in a breath and curled up tight. He hoped to see Ray again, but at the same time, at this rate, it would probably be on a battlefield, magic against magic. Ryan would win, because Ray would hesitate, and Ryan would be powerless to stop.

He swallowed hard and tried to steady his breathing. His whole body quivered with exhaustion already from the shock of magic to his system. But no—he couldn’t despair now! Not when he hadn’t even tried to escape yet.

But… maybe he needed a few more minutes.

 

Something cold touched his cheek, and Ryan’s heart leapt against his ribcage as he lurched up. The room spun around him before his eyes focused on Jon, staring at him with one hand still lifted from his touch. Ryan shook his head. He had dozed off, and it took him a moment to reorient himself.

“You really _did_ fall asleep,” Jon said.

Ryan scowled. “I didn’t _mean_ to. _You_ try having a shit ton of magic pulled through you.”

Jon just stared pointedly at him, and held out the rag.

Ryan clenched his teeth and shook his head.

Jon gave the rag a little shake. “You have to,” he said, his voice weak, thin. Scared. “They’re not fucking around, okay? If you throw a fucking hissy fit, we’ll _both_ get punished. Pick your fucking battles!”

It was his last line of defense. Not that it would last _much_ longer—he was sure the paint was fading, smearing—but it and his name were all he had. Still, it would be better to do it now, rather than risk injury with a rough, careless guard.

He was still debating when the rag touched his cheek. Jon rubbed the rag over Ryan’s skin, the coarse fibers scratching and coming away red and white. Jon had a determined, terrified gleam in his eye, but he was as gentle as a parent scrubbing their child’s dirty face. Ryan sighed, took the rag, and did the rest himself.

Maybe an hour later, a pair of guards arrived and took them through the main door to a small restroom just down the hall. Jon followed them like a habit. Ryan considered making a run for it, but the moment he glanced towards a possible escape route, he felt a gun prod his back. Could he disarm them? A glance over his shoulder earned another warning jab. With two of them, both on high alert, Ryan doubted he could fight them. _Especially_ when he would also be trying to protect Jon. Too risky. He would wait.

He cleaned up a bit better in the restroom, splashing water on his face. It was more for his own comfort—the last bits of face paint were stubborn, and he could still feel them on his skin.

When they were returned to their cell, they had dropped a tray of dry bread and a glass of water. Ryan faintly wondered why they kept him and Jon in the same cell, but if he had to guess, it would be to make whatever comes next somehow worse.

He ate and drank some, but he let Jon have most of it. Jon didn’t argue for equal share.

Eventually, after a long while, the lab coat came back, with two more people in lab coats, plus three guards who did little more than stand behind the lab coats and watch. Ryan had lost track of all time, and Jon had only gotten more anxious.

Ryan stood when they entered, but Jon pressed his back against the wall and made himself as small as possible, hugging his knees to his chest. Ryan glared at them, squaring his shoulders. He would take every hit if it meant Jon took none.

The lab coat from before once more had his tablet. The other two, a man and a woman, each carried a clipboard and pen. The second man was wideset with a beer belly and receding brown hairline, his eyes squinty and dark. The woman had blonde hair cropped close to her head and fine wrinkles on her tanned face.

“Good evening, Mr. Vagabond,” said the first lab coat. “I see you’ve cleaned up nicely.”

Ryan didn’t respond. The lab coat titled his head, blinking slowly as he studied Ryan’s face.

“I can’t say I recognize him. Can you? Barnes? Carter?” He glanced first at the woman, then the man. Ryan assumed the names corresponded as thus.

The woman, Barnes, shook her head. “Unfortunately not. I’m sure we can match him to someone, though, with his picture. If we’re lucky, the boss will know when he’s back from his business trip.”

“His identity doesn’t matter,” Carter complained. “We _have_ him, Stephens!”

“Now, now,” said the first lab coat—Stephens. “The exposé won’t be as powerful if little is _exposed._ ”

Stephens tapped his tablet, and the collar warmed again. Ryan resisted the urge to flinch, even as magic jolted through his system beyond his control. It was just a little this time, a drop in a cup. He could fight them, he thought. But the guards… would he make it? Would they stop him with his own magic before he could even reach them?

“So, Mr. Vagabond,” said Stephens. “What is your name?”

“You can find it in Hell,” Ryan growled.

Stephens clicked his tongue and looked at Barnes. He offered her the tablet, angling the screen towards her. “Want to give it a try?”

She grinned and drew a small pattern on the touchscreen. Ryan’s magic jolted, and he flinched, expecting something to hit him. Some pain. He could take whatever they threw at him…

But it didn’t come. He felt the magic, felt it weave into pinpricks and searing heat, but it did not settle into _his_ skin like he expected. No—Jon whimpered behind him. He spun around, heart racing, and Jon was hugging his knees tight, forehead pressed against them as his whole body shook—shook, with the effort of restraining cries of pain.

“Don’t you do that!” Ryan ordered, glaring at the lab coats. “Leave him out of this!”

Stephens raised an eyebrow and scratched idly at the stubble on his scrawny neck. “You know how to make it stop.”

Ryan sputtered. Give up his name in exchange for them to stop this sadistic spell? It would be a temporary relief with massive ramifications for Ryan. But _he_ was the one hurting Jon. It was _his_ magic.

“Don’t,” Jon whispered. He lifted his head up, face pale. “Don’t give up your name.”

“Cute,” said Barnes, and slid her finger along the tablet’s touchscreen.

The magic warmed against his skin. Jon whined and curled up even tighter, hiding his face again. Trying desperately to hide signs of suffering. Fury flared deep within Ryan, and he rounded on the lab coats. Without thinking, he let out a guttural roar and charged them.

They did not jump or look scared. Stephens merely blinked and tapped the screen. Magic hummed, and on Ryan’s next step, he froze to that spot, the air growing thick and holding him in place. He wobbled, the spell giving him just enough leeway to get his feet solidly under him, before the air seemed to compress around him, his arms snapping to his side. He was trapped there. He couldn’t move. His own magic was used against _him_ , now, too.

He glared and bared his teeth.

“Name?” Barnes prompted.

“No,” Jon whimpered.

“Reggie,” Ryan lied. “It’s Reggie Johnson.”

The third lab coat, Carter, snorted. “Your _real_ name. If we’re gonna do this, at least get the _real_ name.”

Barnes shook her head as she tapped the tablet. Ryan’s skin burned hot, and Jon started to scream. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut. He knew how the spell was woven, but could only imagine how it must feel. Like being impaled with a thousand molten needles, perhaps. Jon screamed and screamed and didn’t stop. _Ryan’s_ magic, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t save Jon from the pain—he only made it worse. It was all his fault, and he was powerless to reign it back in.

“Make it stop!” Jon cried at the top of his lungs. “Make it _stop!_ ”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Risinger,” said Stephens. “Your friend’s magic has only made things worse for you. Isn’t that right, Mr. Vagabond?”

Jon shrieked and writhed on the floor, his face red from the effort and shiny with perspiration and tears. Ryan pleaded silently to the magic burning through him, begged to stop, to come back under his control. Smoke churned at his core, bled into his lungs and tightened his throat. He couldn’t control it. _He couldn’t stop it!_

Make it stop!” Jon shrieked again. “Ryan, _plea—_ ”

He cut off his own plea by clamping both hands over his mouth. He stared at Ryan, eyes wide, tears pouring down his cheek as he covered his cursed mouth.

“Why is he smoking?” asked Carter. The spell faded. Jon didn’t move except for his heaving chest, shuddering occasionally with sobs. All magic left Ryan’s system, and he fell to his knees, coughing up acrid smoke, before he could remember how to stand on his own. “Can’t be the collar.”

“No, he just seems to do that when we use too much,” said Stephens. “Infinite power, perhaps, but every human unfortunately has his limit.”

“Ryan,” Barnes repeated, tapping a finger against her chin. “It’ll have to do for now. It will help with the search anyway. Thanks, boys.”

“Still more progress than the last few days,” said Stephens as all three of them filed out of the room. “That alone is promising…”

The hidden door sealed itself shut, leaving Ryan and Jon alone. Ryan’s feet finally remembered how to move, and he scrambled up to hurry to Jon’s side. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, his hands still covering his mouth as he shivered. But when Ryan reached out, Jon knocked his hand away and turned onto his side, putting his back to Ryan.

“ _Don’t touch me!_ ”

Ryan backed off. Jon curled up, clutched his head and cried.

The lights snapped off. They were thrown into pitch black darkness once more.


	33. In Which Ryan Learns Why They Are Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out! Trying to make sure I give you guys the quality story you deserve ;w;

Ryan started to pace. His limbs protested, exhaustion starting to creep in and making his muscles groan, but his thoughts bounced around in his head and the magic hummed to him. It seemed louder now that he couldn’t touch it even if he wanted to. He wanted to punch something, wanted to smash his head against a wall—against _the_ wall. But he resisted, and instead channeled his restlessness into walking along one long wall of the room. He kept his hand against it, trailing over the tiles and over the closed steel door as Jon huddled somewhere in the dark on the other side of the room.

For a long while, Ryan could hear Jon crying, but Jon managed to quiet himself about half an hour ago. Ryan assumed he had dropped off finally to sleep. He didn’t want to check, though, because his last two attempts to talk to him resulted in Jon lashing out. Jon seemed to be back to hating Ryan. He _tried_ not to be pissed off about that. He didn’t understand, but he tried. He could only guess what Jon was thinking, and couldn’t ask, so he just left Jon alone until Jon turned again.

Meanwhile, Ryan’s thoughts roared in his head—roared because there wasn’t much coherence to them, but they were loud. They roared against the inner wall blocking him off from magic; they roared about Ray and the Fakes; they roared about the lab coats and Jon. He couldn’t sort through them all, couldn’t silence them, so he walked and walked and walked.

“Ryan.”

He almost missed it for the thoughts pounding in his ears. He stopped walking.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled somewhere in the darkness. Ryan turned towards the sound, took a few steps but then stopped.

“It—it’s okay.”

It wasn’t, but Ryan didn’t think it Jon had done it on purpose. They had his name, but all they had right now was “Ryan.” It wasn’t even his first name, technically. A part of him wanted to be angry with Jon, but a bigger part of him didn’t want to blame him.

He heard Jon shift, the soft shush of clothes rubbing together as he shrugged, or maybe he drew his knees up to his chest, or maybe made some other movement.

“It’s not,” said Jon. “And I’m sorry. I—I had been _so good_ about it all, but—but I just… I don’t know. I hoped you would be able to stop it? I knew you couldn’t. But I—I—just…”

Ryan sat down where he was with a soft grunt and sigh, and the motion seemed to cut Jon off. He rested his tired legs and put his face in his hands.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “So you shouldn’t either.”

Jon’s voice turned sharp, angry. “But I gave them your name! Even if it’s not all of it, I—I can’t be trust—”

“ _Jon_ ,” Ryan snapped.  “They’re _torturing_ you. They’re learning how to best wheedle information out of both of us. You’re strong, Jon, and I need you to keep being strong.”

“I’m not,” Jon whined. “I’m—I’m breaking, I…”

“One moment of weakness doesn’t change that,” Ryan insisted, louder. “You’ve been far stronger than anyone ever expected of you, and maybe even stronger than I. So no, I don’t blame you, I don’t hate you, and I haven’t given up yet. We’ll get out, or at least you will.”

Jon fell quiet. Ryan bit his tongue; he hadn’t meant to get so loud. Not against his friend. He rubbed his eyes, seeing stars pop up over the darkness of the room. He needed out. He needed both of them out, and this collar gone.

Ryan heard shuffling, as Jon crawled closer, then a groping hand touched his side. Even with how light the touch was, Ryan could feel how much Jon shook. Ryan reached out, slowly as to not accidentally hit his friend in the pitch black, before pulling Jon closer. Jon didn’t protest or struggle, just wrapped his arms around Ryan’s middle and hugged tight. He felt cold. He was shivering. He was _scared_ , and though his emotions were a tangled mess that still included some resentment somewhere, some anger towards Ryan, Ryan was the only thing he had to hold on to at the moment.

Ryan picked at the collar with his free hand, dug his fingernails into its fine seams and ran his fingers around its edges and the groove around its center. He did it almost by habit, his hand trying to find some unexplored area of something he had already explored dozens of times.

This time, though, Jon grabbed his searching hand and pulled it away.

“I don’t think I’m getting out,” Jon said. His voice was flat, calm—emotionless. “As long as I’m leverage over you, as long as I know things about you, they’ll keep me until I break. I’m just another way to control you.”

“You seem oddly confident about that,” Ryan said dryly. He hoped he could maybe tease Jon into being more positive. But Jon squeezed his hand, his nails biting into the soft flesh at the base of his palm. “Ow—Jon…”

“I’ve seen the blueprints,” Jon said. “I’ve heard them talking. The machine you broke back at the party, that wasn’t their first working prototype—it was just the first thing they were going to show the public. It’s a more portable form of a bigger machine they have here, and one of their plans is to sell it to law enforcement to track Augs and create a criminal database. Your collar—that’s the same tech, but it’s not big or powerful enough to actually measure your abilities. All it does is control the flow. Their selling point for that is to make magic a public commodity, but really it’s just—slavery.”

“And I’m their guinea pig,” Ryan said. “But why me? Why not use one of the Funhaus guys they got working for them? Some of them are pretty strong…”

“But you’re unlimited power,” Jon said. “These guys and Funhaus have a common interest in you. Funhaus could give them the manpower they need. You’re a criminal, the newest Fake, and rumors about you are everywhere. The perfect test subject and the perfect person to showcase their tech and prove their narrative. No one would argue that you shouldn’t be locked up, that your magic shouldn’t be controlled. No one would argue for your freedom. You’re the start of a snowball. I don’t think these Funhaus guys fully what they’re helping start, they’re just happy you’re suffering.”

Ryan struggled to respond. He had finally been free, free from his choking job, free to do whatever he pleased. And now he was right under someone else’s thumb again. He couldn’t even think up a sarcastic reply.

“Our old CEO,” Jon continued when Ryan didn’t reply for a while, “will be back soon. He’ll recognize you. He’ll use you—and me. You think he didn’t care about us when we were employees? Now we’re…”

“Prisoners,” Ryan supplied. “Criminals. Less than human.”

Jon nodded into his shoulder. “You’re getting it. All this anti-Augh tech, this controlling and suppressing shit—you’re the poster child.” He paused to take a shuddering breath, and his next words were tight. “They’ll expose you completely, and they’ll be heroes for it.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Ryan said automatically.

The silence surged up between them. Jon shivered against Ryan’s side, shivered even though he held on as tight as possible. As much as he wanted Jon to be safe, it _was_ easier to be hopeful when someone else _needed_ him to be hopeful.

“They’re really coming, right?”

It was almost inaudible. For a moment Ryan thought Jon was talking about the lab coats.

“What?”

“The Fakes. Tell me they’re coming.”

“They—they are.”

“You’re lying.”

“They are.”

Jon’s hand found Ryan’s throat. A gentle, trembling finger traced around the collar, feeling its edges and where it met his skin.

“They’ll get us out,” Jon said.

“Yes. They will.”

“Tell me about them,” he said. “The Fakes. Ray. The guy you came with. The guy talking in your ear. I want to hear you talk about them.”

“Just—talk about them?”

The hand dropped.

“Show me what you see in them. Show me your life.”

Anything, to fill the silence, to prevent it from returning.

* * *

 

The lab coats next came with a handful of guards during the daytime. One of the guards grabbed Ryan’s wrists and pushed a button on a little device he pulled from his pocket. Ryan’s metal cuffs beeped happily, and some magnet in them activated, forcing his wrists together. He could rotate his hands around each other just a little, but he couldn’t wrench them apart. Another guard did the same to Jon, but Jon had already held his wrists together, expectantly defeated.

They left Jon behind and took Ryan to a different room, marched him down the halls to a broader, better lit room with windows around three of the walls. The room was empty, white, except for a pole in the middle of the room. It was steel and came up to about Ryan’s waist.

Most of the escort did not enter the room with Ryan, instead going further down the hall to the next room. One guard dragged Ryan towards the pole in the center, and one lab coat trailed behind—Stephens, the chicken-necked one, who seemed to be at least somewhat in charge. The guard dragged Ryan up to the pole and shoved him towards it. Ryan narrowly missed ramming his gut into the top of the pole.

“Mr. Ryan,” said Stephens, “I want you to put your hands on the pole.”

Ryan bared his teeth. “Make me.”

The guard didn’t hesitate. Before Ryan could really react, a fist slammed into his jaw. Ryan stumbled and tasted blood from where he bit his cheek.

“Do it,” said the guard. “Or we get your friend.”

Ryan spat out a mixture of saliva and blood onto the floor and put his wrists next to the pole as instructed. Some sensor evidently activated in the pole, for a buzzing filled the air, and Ryan’s cuffs stopped magnetizing to each other and instead attached themselves to the pole. The motion and strength of the attraction yanked Ryan’s arms, and he stumbled yet again. He ground his teeth. This place was so high tech, they couldn’t even _cuff_ him normally.

“See you soon, Ryan,” said Stephens. Ryan glared. “You’re going to be _very_ helpful in our research today.”

“Yeah?” Ryan growled. “Going to torture me some more?”

“Not on purpose,” said Stephens, shrugging and brushing imaginary dust off his white lab coat.

Ryan spat more blood out, but Stephens had already turned towards the door. The guard grinned wickedly at Ryan before following the lab coat and shutting the door, effectively locking Ryan in there alone.

He had the distinct feeling that many eyes were watching him closely, but the windows were tinted dark. He glowered at each one in turn, not sure which ones held lab coats.

“At least tell me what you’re doing to me!” he demanded.

Initially, there was no response. Then, a speaker somewhere in the room turned on with just a gentle crackle, and Stephens spoke.

“That machine is a lot bigger than it looks. It functions similarly to the one you destroyed at Saga Systems. This machine will pull magic through you and take your magic fingerprint, so to speak. We’ll know more about your magic than you do. And, ideally, you’ll help us understand magic itself better. You’ll be advancing _science_. Isn’t that exciting? It might hurt, but I think you can handle it.”

Ryan blinked. He hadn’t really expected them to respond. But before he could process anything, before he could respond as well, the machine turned on. He could hear it rumbling beneath the floor, not hard enough to truly shake anything, but enough that it could still be felt. He braced himself, knowing what was coming.

They started slow. The magic bucked and weaved inside of Ryan, pulling from somewhere, through him, and into the machine. It made him feel queasy, and his vision wiggled and wavered until he had to get down on his knees lest he fall over. His heart pounded against his ribcage, but the normal excitement was dulled, as though his body knew this wasn’t right.

Every spare emotion, he channeled into anger. How _dare_ they control his magic for him. How _dare_ they make him feel hopeless, helpless, like his power wasn’t even his. He bared his teeth and glared at the windows. How _dare_ they take his autonomy.

The flow increased suddenly, sending a hot jolt down his spine. Ryan gasped and arched his back, as though bending could get away from the shock. His body didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to react to the unnatural fluctuations in magic. His skin warmed, the hairs on his arms raising against his jacket’s sleeves.

A woman’s voice rang out over the intercom. “Hold on—Stephens, I can’t focus on the data when he’s looking like that. Can’t we cover his face?”

“Oh—if you insist,” Stephens said. Ryan could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

The machine slowed how it dragged magic through Ryan, but did not stop. A few long moments later, a guard entered the room, carrying his skull mask. Ryan eyed it, then glanced at the guard’s face—and let his eyes widen just a little before he caught himself. Spoole was the one carrying his mask, his face carefully neutral. Spoole had never seemed the type to take guard duty, unlike some of the other Funhaus members. Yet here he was.

Spoole crouched next to Ryan, leaning in closer than necessary to force Ryan’s mask on.

“I’m sorry,” Spoole whispered, as quiet as possible. With the way Spoole positioned himself, his face was mostly hidden from view of the windows. The mask pulled over Ryan’s face, and Spoole worked on adjusting it. “It wasn’t meant to happen like this. Bad luck. Still trying to help.”

The mask on straight, Spoole stood. Ryan watched him leave, his breath hot against his mask. There wasn’t any reason for Spoole to lie to him now—he suspected Spoole might have requested a shift just for him. Joel certainly would never be on guard duty.

The flow of magic increased again, pulling Ryan away from his thoughts. The mask held him, deep and solitary, and he held in his grunts of pain. The mask pulled him away, hid him away from his present state. It was like his mind was wrapped in a stuffy blanket, mutely shielded from the rest of the world, and he kept it that way for as long as the lab coats used him. It was a relief of some kind.

It might have been an hour. It might have been three. However long Ryan was there, feeding his magic into the machine, when it finally shut off, he knew he was exhausted. The weariness felt distant, his mind vague, like it was someone else’s body. His skin tingled hot like he was sunburned all over, and he breathed smoke that leaked out of the edges of his mask. The machine released him, and he let himself slump to the floor.

He didn’t move when the door opened, and he didn’t move when Stephens ordered him up. A guard kicked him in the ribs, hard enough to roll him over, and only then did Ryan stand, his ribs aching. His cuffs linked back together, his wrists in front of him, and they marched him back out of the room. A guard led the way, and two more followed behind him.

He didn’t give them any satisfaction of emotional response. He kept quiet, his breath rattling with the last remnants of smoke, and he stared blankly, icily, at anyone who dared meet his eyes. Rage fueled him. Rage was the only thing he could truly feel from outside his own emotions and pain. Rage kept his feet moving and his back straight. Everyone here would pay. Every single one.

The door to his cell slid open. Jon was already huddled, sitting against the opposite wall, near a corner, and he looked up when Ryan was shooed in. The door closed behind Ryan, and he remained there, back straight, eyes glaring. Jon shrank under his gaze, made himself small against the wall.

They stared at each other, Jon pale and wide-eyed. The skull mask grinned its lipless grin. The cuffs around their wrists deactivated, freeing their hands. He took a step forward, and Jon shuddered and recoiled as he tried to retreat with nowhere to go. Ryan resisted the urge to laugh, a cheap giggle bubbling up in his chest. After feeling useless, after feeling helpless, this was his to control. This was a situation he had power in. This was the Vagabond.

A “please” slipped out of Jon’s mouth, a whisper he couldn’t quite catch before it escaped, and Ryan’s heart jolted. His mind slammed back into its proper spot in his head. He remembered where he was, and he ripped off the Vagabond’s mask and tossed it aside.

“Jon,” Ryan blurted. “Jon, I’m sorry—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. For scaring him? For feeling powerful? For… both? Ryan dropped to his knees and Jon seemed to relax, though he still stared with wide eyes. Exhaustion and hunger, previously ignored and held at bay, crashed back into him. Ryan hung his head, unable to hold himself upright.

He startled when he felt cold, gentle hands touch his face, but he let himself be guided down to lie on the floor, to lie with his head across a lap. He sunk heavily into his weariness as chill fingers combed through his hairs.

* * *

 

At some point, the lights turned off again. Ryan was pretty sure by this point that they were primarily meant to disorient them, and didn’t actually follow a regular day/night cycle. It made keeping track of time even more difficult, on top of the exhaustion and stress that always inched him closer to blissful unconsciousness.

Jon stroked his hair for a while, and neither of them spoke. Ryan did not feel like he deserved this kindness, but he couldn’t summon the energy to protest. It was as though he was too tired to even fall asleep.

And then, the hidden door opened, spilling light into the darkened room, and an unarmored silhouette appeared. Ryan pushed himself up, though both he and Jon remained sitting, staring. The figure cursed and ducked out of sight. A moment later, the lights snapped back on, and the man reappeared.

Joel Rubin.

Ryan opened his mouth to say his name, but Joel shushed him. He glanced behind him before he stepped in. Keeping the door open, he approached and knelt in front of both of them.

“What do you want,” Jon hissed, keeping his voice quiet.

Joel held up his hands defensively. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me right now, but I don’t have much time. The other room there, there’s a couple guards who monitor but don’t record this room—don’t want proof they’re keeping prisoners. I’ve drugged them, but I still need to clean up the mess.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Okay…? Are you helping us escape?”

“I… can’t,” Joel admitted. “I would if I could, but I don’t have access to the key to your collar, and if you can’t get that off, there’s no way you’re getting far.”

“No access!” Jon repeated. “You’re fucking _working_ for them!”

“Funhaus was hired for glorified security,” Joel said. “We don’t freely have access to the research tools. If I could convince my gang, we’d be able to take it by force, but it’s just me and Spoole. Only the two of us seem to understand why this corporate partnership is a bad idea…”

Ryan gritted his teeth. “If you can’t help us,” he growled, “then why did you come.”

“I just… didn’t want to leave you in the dark,” Joel said. He glanced over his shoulder into the room beyond before continuing. “My gang doesn’t realize that they’re next on the list once these researchers are done with you. Criminal Augs lured into a false sense of security because of a mutual enemy? I could laugh at how stupid they’re being if I wasn’t so terrified for them.

“I count our money, Ryan. I do _business_. I barely know how to shoot a pistol, and I can’t hack much. I had access to the security intel, but you got captured anyway because the researchers randomly decided to have a late night. I’m doing the best I can to get us all out of here, but I honestly don’t think I have the power to.

“So I came here to warn you, and I’ll be passing this information along, too, as soon as I can. They’re going to use you for a few more tests, and then they’re going to do an exposé. A big reveal with you as their tamed lion. They’ll take over a public area in Los Santos and televise your unveiling. Your identity will be revealed, and your magic will be put on display, and Saga Systems will fund all of it. The CEO himself will be holding the microphone.”

Jon had started shivering again. Ryan forced his brain to absorb the information faster—he didn’t want to compromise Joel by wasting time if this was his only way out. He looped an arm around Jon almost without thinking, feeling the other lean into him.

“But—the Fakes can stop it, if you tell them,” Ryan said.

“That’s my hope,” Joel agreed. “Since _Funhaus_ won’t be doing anything to stop it… Too busy gloating.”

“And Jon,” Ryan blurted desperately. “Why can’t he go now? Why can’t you get _him_ out? What do they need him for?”

Joel looked at Ryan with the most pitying face he had ever seen. Joel jerked his chin at the both of them. Guilt prickled hot across the back of Ryan’s neck as Joel said, “For exactly this reason. I fully believe that if I tried to get him out, security would catch me, and I would be labelled a traitor. I’m sorry.”

Joel stood, and Jon hung his head, sagging suddenly against Ryan. “I have to go,” Joel said. “Need to make sure no one guesses I was here. I’m sorry I can’t do more. Just… if you can—if the situation arises—please don’t kill one of my gang.”

Ryan met Joel’s eyes, and for a moment they stared. There was no reason for Ryan to stay his hand should the opportunity present itself. But Joel was risking everything to help him even _this_ much… Without breaking eye contact, Ryan gave him a single, sharp nod. Joel pursed his lips, gave him a nod in return, and headed out. The hidden door closed behind him, and several seconds later, the room darkened once more.


	34. In Which James Fights Ryan for an Audience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops! Didn't write anything for a while. at long last!

Sometime the next day—or, more accurately, sometime after the lights turned back on, they separated Ryan and Jon again. They forced the mask back on Ryan, then took him to a different room, a rectangular one with padded walls and a padded floor and nothing else. It had two entrances, one in each short wall, and one window along one of the long walls. It was maybe twice as big as Ryan’s and Jon’s cell.

The guards left him alone in the padded room. He didn’t move from where they left him. He glanced around the room, gathered his bearings, then stood and stared straight ahead. He kept his shoulders squared and his chin proudly raised. Just a man in a skull mask, a killer without emotion. If that’s what they wanted to see, then the Vagabond he would be.

The door opposite him opened, and magic jolted through him. James entered, grinning, and Ryan could feel the magic rolling off of him. Bruce slipped in behind him, but hung back, leaning against the wall next to the door. James strode forward, more towards the center of the room, before stopping. He rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles.

“Been looking forward to this,” James said, “ever since we brought in that reporter guy.”

“Remember, Mr. Willems,” said Stephens over an intercom. “You’re here to help us test the collar. Exacting your little revenge is a secondary benefit. Do try not to rough him up too much.”

“Sure, yeah,” James said, not breaking eye contact with the Vagabond. “Whatever you say.”

A moment passed, where Ryan and James just stared at each other. Bruce leaned against the wall and watched, ready to spring into action if needed. He was not really in any shape to fight. He was barely fed, barely rested, and had no control over the magic charging through him. He had control over one thing, and that was his own body.

Then, Stephens spoke again. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Willems, you may begin.”

Ryan didn’t even have time to flinch. A force smashed into his side, the telekinetic spell shoving the Vagabond aside. His magic jolted and spun as his shoulder slammed into the ground. Ryan lay there, struggling to catch his breath as his heart thumped painfully fast against his ribcage.

The intercom buzzed to life. “Sorry, James. Make the next attack slower, please.” Ryan sucked in a deep breath and shivered. “Mr. Vagabond, stand up again.”

_No._

James marched over to him, grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands, and heaved him back up to his feet. “Get. Up,” James growled.

James shoved him back, and Ryan stumbled but remained standing. He did not glare, and did not whimper, but just fixed James with a cool stare. His magic swirled inside him, and he saw James prepare another spell, the tendrils of his magic reaching up like snakes poised to strike.

The telekinetic spell lashed out, but this time Ryan’s magic responded in kind. The telekinetic spell shattered, and James had just enough time to brace himself before a column of magic crashed into him with enough force that he was pushed back on his heels. James shook it off and bared his teeth at the window.

“Give me some warning next time!” James snapped.

“This is a test first and foremost, Mr. Willems.”

“James,” Bruce said softly. James rolled his eyes and prepared another attack.

The two of them traded blows; the lab coats behind the mirror had free reign over the magic flowing through Ryan, though their reactions were not as quick as Ryan’s would have been. Sometimes, he suspected that they deliberately were slow, allowing James to knock him around. Ryan was thrown into the padded walls more than once.

Bruce was there to keep James’s energy up with supportive spells. He hummed a tune under his breath, and with his help, James was able to keep up with Ryan’s seemingly endless supply of magic.

Ryan never raised a hand during the fight, and merely took hits and stood up again. Though he refused to participate in the scuffle, his magic did anyway.

Distantly, he thought, this use of magic was crude. James’s fighting style was never one of finesse, and the lab coats only had rudimentary control over Ryan’s. Distantly, he remembered Jeremy’s intricate formation of weapons, remembered Ray’s careful but quick illusions, remembered the beauty of Ray’s wings of light. All requiring a skill and care that the lab coats rejected in favor of abusing Ryan’s raw power.

Distantly, Ryan thought he might one day rage over that. He yearned to have that finesse, to weave those complicated spells on a whim. To have that mastery, to burn past his mental block that was preventing him from using magic as he had before. Distantly, he yearned to recall the warm touch of magic, the power blooming under his fingertips, instead of fearing its brutal energy and raw strength. Distantly, he knew that once upon a time, he had understood himself, understood the magic pulsing through him, but now it seared with unfamiliar heat and smoked out of remembrance of his scars.

Then one of James’s attacks slipped past Ryan’s defenses and slammed into his head. Ryan was flung backwards, his head snapping back as the padded wall caught him. He sank to the floor, his head spinning and his ribs aching with fresh bruises. James’s magic looped under his arms and hoisted him back up. Ryan tried to stay on his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, but the world tipped and the floor rose up to meet him again.

James took a step towards him, but Bruce called James’s name and ran ahead of him. Bruce crouched next to Ryan and wriggled the mask off his head. The air cooled the sweat on his cheek, sweat from the stuffy mask and the fight and the magic usage.

“I think you concussed him,” Bruce said, pulling at Ryan’s face. Ryan let him prod him and gently look at his eyes. “You probably don’t want to go on like this.”

“Well, help him out then, Mr. Greene. That’s what you’re there for,” said Stephens through the intercom. Bruce huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I can help him rest. I don’t _heal._ No one can heal. You saw that on your tests. Even your little Harbinger can’t.”

“He’s _fine_ ,” James snarled, marching over and yanking Bruce back with a hand on the shoulder. Ryan tried to push himself up before James got to him, but his head wasn’t sure which way was up. James grabbed Ryan’s hair and pulled him up to a sitting position. “He’s faking it to get out of it.”

“James—” Bruce started.

“Get up,” James demanded. His fists gripped the front of Ryan’s jacket dragged Ryan back to his feet. “The Vagabond isn’t so untouchable now, huh? But we’re not _finished_ here.”

“James, I think we—” said Bruce.

Ryan spat on James’s shirt. Fury flared in James’s bright blue eyes, and then his fist connected with Ryan’s temple. Ryan spun and fell back to the ground, his chin knocking against the padded floor. He groaned, but he didn’t even have the chance to writhe before James shoved him onto his back and leaned in close.

“You’ve done nothing but disrespect me since I first saw your stupid fucking skull,” James hissed. “I’ve had enough of you.”

Ryan grinned, laughter bubbling up his throat. “When they’re done with me,” he gasped between giggles, “who do you think is next?”

James’s eyes widened in rage, and his fist pulled back. Ryan’s heart thrummed giddily, and his magic shifted, and he couldn’t control his laughter as his magic held James in place.

“That’s enough, Mr. Willems. The session is over,” said Stephens.

Ryan’s magic faded back to a distant hum, leaving his body aching with its absence. James stood up and threw Ryan’s mask at him, the rubber skull landing on his chest with a solid _plop._ Ryan’s laughter faded to exhausted chuckles, and James stalked off, leaving the room. Bruce hovered, as though unsure if he should leave with James or stay with the test subject.

Two guards entered through the door James had left through. They strode past Bruce without acknowledging him and stooped to each grab one of Ryan’s arms. Between the two guards, Ryan was pulled back to his feet and made to walk. Ryan stumbled almost immediately, but the guards kept him up. Bruce trailed behind, still hesitant.

Ryan threw up in the hallway on the way back to his cell. The guards reluctantly held him up, but groaned and stood at awkward angles to avoid getting their boots splattered with bile. Luckily, Ryan did not throw up again, but the sour taste remained in his mouth.

Bruce followed them all the way back to Ryan’s cell. The door slid open, and the guards unceremoniously dumped Ryan back in the room. Ryan sank mercifully to the ground, his world tipping and swaying like he was on a boat at sea during a storm. He let his head hang as he propped himself up on his hands and knees. His skull mask was tossed beside him, but the door remained open as Bruce stepped inside.

The guards remained, but Bruce kneeled next to Ryan. He hummed a positive tune and touched the back of Ryan’s head. His head was enveloped in a soothing, golden light, and the pain and some of the wooziness faded. Drowsiness rushed in to replace it, and Ryan suddenly found it difficult to keep his eyes open.

“That should help the pain,” Bruce said. “You’re not healed, I just numbed you a bit. So just—lie down a bit. Rest. I’ll see if they’ll bring you some water. You’re their Harbinger, so you should be left in good enough shape.”

Ryan frowned at him. “You’re being… awfully nice,” he managed.

Bruce stood and stretched. “Just doing whatever keeps the boss happy. I couldn’t care less about you.”

Bruce headed back out the room, brushing past the guards. The door slid shut behind him. Ryan tried to raise his head, but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He groaned and curled up, clutching his still-aching head. The drowsiness pushed down on him like a heavy blanket—surely an effect of Bruce’s spell—and despite his best efforts, he slipped into a fitful unconsciousness.

He dreamed lightly, but it was less images and more sensations, like a lucid daydream. He swayed and tipped in the darkness, a ship lost at sea, as his magic hummed at him from a great distance. He dreamed of soft, light hands on his cheek, of Ray bending in close and kissing his forehead so sweetly, so gently, that he thought he could still feel it when he stumbled back into consciousness.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the lights were still on, and the wooziness had mostly faded, and his mouth was fully dry. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, rubbing his forehead. A glass of water sat on a tray a few paces away from him. Ryan stared at it, trying to wrap his brain around its presence. Tried to wrap his brain around… something that was…

He glanced around the room. A chill washed over him.

Where was Jon?

He got his feet under him and stood, swaying. He carefully made his way to the wall, using it to steady himself. He wasn’t as dizzy, but he still felt unbalanced. He walked all around the room, as though completing a lap would make Jon appear again. A concussion, he could deal with. Bruises, he could take. Fear and loathing broiled up within him, fear of not knowing where Jon was, and loathing for the ones who had taken him.

Where was he? _Where was he?_

He got to the hidden door and pounded on it. He liked to imagine anyone on the other side jumped at the sound. He hit his fist against the door until it bruised.

“Where is he!” he demanded. “If you lay a finger on him, I swear, none of you are fucking leaving here alive!”

The lights snapped off. Ryan thought he could hear the guards on the other side of the door laughing, but it was likely his imagination…

His metal cuffs beeped, and before he could react, his wrists magnetized together. The other door to the cell slid open, the white light of the hallway spilling into the dim room. Ryan spun on his heel to glare at the figure who entered and nearly lost his balance in the process.

“Well, well, well…”

Ed entered, looking very much like when Ryan last saw him, except his salt-and-pepper hair was tousled, and his black suit was rumpled. His narrow face looked weary, and Ryan guessed he had either been traveling, or hadn’t slept in like two days. His hazel eyes found Ryan, deep in the shadows.

“If it isn’t our Harbinger.”

“Where is Jon,” Ryan growled. “What have you done with him?”

“Hm, I’m sure you would like to know that, wouldn’t you. Can’t someone turn on the lights already? I’d like to get a good look at our Harbinger.”

The light flooded the room again, making Ryan wince. Ed was silent. Ryan stared at him, ground his teeth and didn’t move. On one hand, he had been dreading this moment. Ed would surely recognize him. But on the other hand, then maybe Jon could reappear. Maybe Ryan could argue for Jon’s freedom.

“Hm,” Ed grunted. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. I remember you. How small the world must be. Ryan Haywood!” He laughed. “Gosh, if it hadn’t been for the party to jog my memory, I might not have been able to place you! Small world indeed.”

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to draw in a long, slow breath through his nose. His whole body shook with hot fury. When he reopened his eyes, Ed had turned to talk to a guard standing just outside the door.

“I know his identity,” said Ed. “Tell them to move on to the next phase with the other.”

 As the guard relayed the message over a handheld radio, Ed turned back to Ryan and smirked.

“Well, well, you sure have had quite the journey since you were let go. From quality assurance to Vagabond, hired directly by the Fakes, the new whisper on the streets. However did you make it so far so fast?”

“I’m sure you would like to know that,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “Prying questions from a man who went from CEO of a tech company to funding research that uses torture to advance it.”

Ed tipped his head back and laughed. “That’s choice! A criminal lecturing me on ethical research! Please…” He calmed and grinned at Ryan. “We only use unconventional methods on those that deserve it. Your kind only tortures out of a selfish want for more power, and _you_ don’t differentiate the victims.”

“Right,” said Ryan. “Because Jon deserves this too.”

“Aiding and abetting a known criminal,” Ed said, ticking off his fingers. “Breaking and entering private property. Theft. Destruction of rented property. Hardly becoming of a professional journalist, even just a photojournalist. Of course, his help here keeps that all from getting on his official record.”

 _Help,_ Ryan thought. _Sure._

“Stephens and the others,” Ed continued, “share much of the same philosophy. We—”

“Did you just come here to monologue at me,” Ryan snapped, “or are you going to use me for something.”

Ed looked him up and down. “I came to see the Vagabond, the notorious new criminal Aug in our grasp. Our Harbinger. I have to say—I’m rather disappointed.”

“The fuck did you expect—Ghost Rider?”

“Witty.” Ed glanced over his shoulder at the guard. “Remind me to silence him for the exposé.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ed flicked out his wrist, revealing a touchscreen watch. He tapped it a few times, then twisted the dial on the side. The collar grew warm as sweet, delicious magic leaked into Ryan. He shivered and rolled his shoulders.

“Cool, huh?” Ed said, waving his wrist. “Can’t do much from the watch app yet, but I can do a couple preprogrammed spells.”

Ed strolled across the room. As he drew close, he pushed his thumb against the watch’s screen. Ryan’s heart jumped, and the magic solidified around him, freezing his joints. Ed leaned in close and grinned. Ryan could do nothing but glare. “I’ll be honest, I’ve always wondered what it was like. To feel the sweet, intoxicating power running through you. It must be nice, huh? Augs seem to like it a lot, given how many of them use their power to fucking steal and murder. Seems only fair to make them share it, don’t you think?”

The magic burned under Ryan’s skin. He swallowed, feeling it churn deep in his core. No control— _no control—_

Ed pulled back and twisted the dial on his watch. The collar turned off, whisking Ryan’s magic and the spell away. His legs wobbled, but he remained standing. He wasn’t sure if he missed its presence, or if he was glad it was gone. He coughed a couple times, just to clear his throat. Ed took another step back and frowned before glancing at the open door.

“Why does he smoke?” Ed asked.

The guard leaned in, peeking at Ryan. “I… don’t know, sir. They’re not sure. He just kind of does it sometimes, usually when you use too much, I think.”

“Hm.” Ed raised an eyebrow at Ryan. “I must get the full report from my researchers. I shall see you again soon, Ryan Haywood. I can’t wait to show you to Los Santos—maybe even the world!”

Ed left the room, and as soon as the door shut and locked, Ryan’s cuffs released. He sagged, sinking back down to the floor.

Jon was gone somewhere. The CEO was back and knew who he was. With trembling hands and a shaking breath, Ryan crawled across the floor to his skull mask and pulled it over his head, enveloping himself in the rubber. It was almost cozy, willingly putting it on. He then reluctantly drank the water offered him, pulling up his mask only enough to bring the lass to his lips. Despondency or not, his mouth was dry, and it may be one of the last bits of charity he got.

He hoped, judging from Ed’s words, that his identity would be kept a secret until his grand exposé. He wasn’t sure what that would solve, but the longer it was kept a secret, the longer he could fantasize about killing all of them before they had the chance to share.

He sat up against the wall and allowed himself to nod off. He didn’t want to sleep alone in a cell, vulnerable to anyone who walked in, but he needed to let his body rest.

He replayed the last conversation in his mind, over and over, letting his mind comb through it while he rested his eyes.

They were proceeding to “the next phase.” What could that mean? If it concerned Jon, it might have been Ed’s unwillingness to admit to torturing a civilian for information. Ryan kept his anger at a distance, let the skull mask put a barrier between him and rash emotions. Questionable actions or not, Jon was just a journalist, and even with Ed twisting his own actions and words to suit his philosophy, he couldn’t deny Jon’s civilian status.

Ryan gritted his teeth, focusing for a moment on shoving is rage and helplessness aside. There was nothing he could do about it now. He had to concentrate on what he could _actually_ do.

_Why does he smoke?_

He paused. His eyes fluttered open. The acrid, black smoke churned inside him whenever he feared his control over magic. That much he knew. He knew it was a subconscious act, a recreation of the smoke from the machine that had introduced a world—no, a universe of pain. He could recognize that connection, even if he couldn’t make it stop. It was the same smoke, reproduced in similar situations—or perceived similar situations.

The lab coats did not know this. No one really understood this except Ryan, and Ray. It was magic they weren’t using. It was a part of him that they did not control.

Unfortunately, it was a part of him that _he_ , too, did not control.

But it was a start. It meant their control over him and the magic he channeled was not absolute. And that was something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm hmm, this is moving a tad slower than I expected. Should be moving past this soon!


	35. In Which Ed Monologues Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooo i'm tryin'

Ryan meditated for a long while. He settled his back against the wall and closed his eyes and tried to let his mind settle beneath the skull mask. He searched for the smoke in the darkness, clawed at the magic humming just beyond his reach. He tried to dive deep within himself, but a part of him held back.

He opened his eyes, slammed his fist into the hard ground beside him, then tried again. This time, he focused on just meditating, and let himself drift through the darkness. Faintly, he hoped the answer would rise to the surface, float up like a dead fish I the ocean, but he kept his thoughts distant.

He lost what little track of time he kept, but that did not worry him. Calm seeped throughout his entire body, and even quieted the magic humming a little.

He hovered in that state for as long as possible, letting thoughts come and go as they pleaded without dwelling. He hoped Joel got his message to the Fakes. He hoped the Fakes believed him. He hoped Jon was okay. He hoped Ray wasn’t worrying too much. He missed Ray. He missed the others. He missed hanging out with Ray. He missed hanging out with Jon. He wondered if they would be friends with each other. He wondered if the party would have had a different outcome, if they had.

The magic humming grew to a dull roar. He gasped, jolting out of his meditation and clutching at his suddenly racing heart. That had been a train of thought he hadn’t been ready to follow. The magic surging through him, the burning, the pain, the screams, they all tore at him.

He shivered and hugged his knees to his chest. He had to go down that path, though. The wound had not yet scarred, but he had to prod it if he hoped to get out in one piece. He _knew_ this. He rested his forehead against his knees and squeezed his eyes shut.

He only wished he didn’t have to do it alone.

* * *

 

The next time they escorted Ryan to another skirmish against James, he decided to fight back. His ribs still ached from the last time, and though he wasn’t unbalanced anymore, his head still throbbed where it had hit the padded wall before. And he was _angry_ , furious, and ready to fight tooth and nail for both his freedom and Jon’s.

He knew if he tried to break out here, using the weakness in the collar, he probably wouldn’t make it very far. Even though the collar couldn’t stop the smoke, couldn’t control all of his magic, it could still shut it off—plus, they had all the blue light tools to stop him in his tracks. But if he could understand the smoke, understand the part of magic and the part of him that wasn’t being controlled, he might be able to take advantage of the next opportunity.

He began the same way as last time. He stood where they left him and waited for James to show. When James entered, flanked by Bruce, Ryan fixed him with a cold glare as his collar activated and magic lurched through him. James grinned, and stepped forward while his buddies stayed back.

“Ready for another round?” James said.

Ryan didn’t respond. He grinned wickedly under his mask and hoped it reached his eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Willems,” said Stephens over the speaker.

James took a step forward, his magic lashing out. Ryan braced himself, biding his time, but his magic responded and shielded him. His magic formed into a protective bubble, and James’s spell dissolved when it hit it. Ryan frowned. That was a new spell. He quickly tried to memorize how it formed.

Then James growled and stepped through the spell, shattering the flimsy bubble. He rammed into Ryan with his shoulder, adding a spell to his shove so that Ryan was flung back off his feet. His back hit the floor and the wind flew out of his lungs.

He gasped but scrambled to his feet before James reached him. He grinned again, breathing hard. This time, he was certain it reached his eyes, because James’s face twisted in fury.

Ryan ducked under James’s swinging fist and darted back out of reach. The speaker crackled to life, the sharp voice of Stephens filling the room.

“ _Mr. Willems_ ,” he chastised. “I thought I told you to…”

Stephens cut off with a loud shuffling and the sound of a heavy plastic object hitting the floor. Ryan and both Funhaus members stared at the dark window. High-pitched microphone feedback shrieked for a moment, then someone cleared his throat into the mic.

“Please continue, James,” said the CEO. “Fight as you would normally.”

“Sir—” Stephens protested, distantly, but then the mic shut off.

James turned back to Ryan and smiled.

From then on, James doubled his efforts to strike the Vagabond. Magic surged through both of them, but the only thing Ryan had control over was his own limbs. So he ducked and dodged as best he could, managing to only take hits from the telekinetic spells that pushed past his defenses.

He bided his time. Waited for an opening.

He tried to look inward, tried to find the smoke that threatened to churn and control it, but James’s physical attacks meant Ryan had to focus on dodging.

Then James swung too wide, and Ryan pounced. He tackled James around the middle and took them both down to the floor. They rolled, wrestling, each one struggling to be the one on top.

A foot connected with Ryan’s head, and he fell back, his head spinning. Bruce took another step and stomped on Ryan’s chest, forcing the breath out of him and holding him down. Ryan gasped, gripping Bruce’s ankle with both hands but unable to find the leverage to move it.

“What did I ever do to _you?_ ” he wheezed in a fit of desperation. He never personally injured or fought Bruce before. If his reasoning was weak…

“Hurt one of us,” Bruce said simply, “and you hurt all of us.”

 _Oh_. Ryan let his head rest against the floor and let his hands fall to his side. Bruce was stubborn.

“That’s enough for today,” Stephens said over the speaker. He seemed to have regained control over the microphone. The collar cooled, and the magic left Ryan’s body, leaving him trembling and tired. “Escort him back to his room.”

Bruce lifted his foot from Ryan’s chest, and both he and James hoisted him up. The moment his feet were under him again, they shoved him towards a door. Ryan stumbled, but caught himself on the wall next to the door. He glared at Funhaus, his teeth bared under his mask.

Two guards entered through the door and grabbed Ryan’s arms. As his cuffs magnetized together, they pushed him through the door and down the hall. He moved his feet only because if he stopped, he would be thrown.

As they approached a branching hallway, Ryan heard voices down it. Not loud, but trying to be—a heated argument struggling not to yell.

“—why can’t you see it?”

“You’re making stuff up! I’m not gonna be fucking paranoid just because _you_ are!”

Ryan peeked down the hallway as they passed. Spoole was arguing with Adam, and the two of them were so focused on each other that they didn’t notice the passing guards Vagabond. Soon they slipped out of sight again.

“All I’m asking you to do is trust me!”

“You know I do, but I also think you’re being _unreasonable._ ”

“Oh yeah? Am I being so unreasonable that _Joel_ agrees with me?”

“Spoole—”

“Who do you trust? Me, or the…”

Ryan strained his ears, but the words became intelligible. Still, he felt a slight pull towards them. He couldn’t explain it, but later he would describe it like something was trying to get him to go back and look again. But the guards kept him on a strict path, and soon he was back in his cell.

Jon was still absent. The urge to punch something reared up so suddenly, so intensely, that his fist was raised to strike the door before he caught himself. He took a step back, shook out his hand, and took a deep breath. Breaking his knuckles would not be his wisest decision.

Instead, he adjusted his mask and sat down to meditate again. To find the smoke tearing him up deep inside. The first step was to relax and clear his mind. He forced all irrelevant thoughts out of his head and started counting his breaths.

 _Where was Jon?_ The worries barged in unwarranted. He couldn’t dwell on it now, powerless to change anything as he was. _What were the Fakes doing?_ He had no way of knowing, so he pushed it aside for now. _How can he take advantage of this weakness in the collar? Would it be enough?_ The answer would come in time. He pushed these anxieties out, focusing just on himself and the immediate world around him. On the hard floor and cold wall at his back. On the skull mask holding him in place. On his jeans beneath his palms and the leather of his jacket against the skin of his arms…

A wave of magic rolled over him, almost knocking him down with its force. It made the air seem thick and perfumed, made the hairs on his arms raise and heat rise to his cheeks and neck. He shot to his feet as it rolled past him the warmth fading again. It had originated not far from here, and it was more magic than even Ryan could possibly channel.

Could it have been Ray? He didn’t know what else it _could_ be, barring a second angel. But how could there be a second angel when they were already supposed to be few and far between?

He held his breath, ears straining against the door for any sound other than his pounding heartbeat. If it was Ray, then any moment someone would burst through that door. But he doubt it. Alarms weren’t going off, and the emergency light remained unlit.

As suddenly as the magic had rolled over him, pain ripped through his gut. He gasped and folded over, leaning heavily against the wall as he slid down to the floor. It was the worst cramps he had ever had in his life and it felt like his soul was trying to escape his body through his abdomen. He curled up into a ball, shivering and willing the pain to leave.

Slowly, slowly, the pain abetted. It eased away like molasses dripping from a jar, leaving behind a sweet weariness. He lay there, panting. So much shit had happened already, this might as well happen too, he thought. Some odd reaction, perhaps.

 When the pain faded completely, he unfolded and pushed himself upright again. He pulled at his mask. He needed to breath, needed to let the air touch his face.

The door to his cell opened, revealing a few people in the hallway. Ryan left his mask on and jumped to his feet, squaring his shoulders and glaring at who dared enter. His blood ran cold when he saw it was Ed, and next to him stood Jon. Behind him, hanging back in the hallway, Adam and a guard Ryan didn’t recognized stood at the ready. Adam shifted from foot to foot, and he continually glanced down the hall as though looking for something.

Jon looked… small, next to Ed. That was the best Ryan could describe it, even though Ed wasn’t all that much bigger than him. Ryan stared. Jon had a fresh, dark shirt with long sleeves, and clean jeans. He didn’t see any visible injuries, but Jon’s eyes stared vacantly past Ryan. His hands were loose at his sides, and they trembled slightly.

“Good evening, Ryan,” said Ed with a pleasant smile. “It was amazing to watch your tests today.”

Anger pulled at Ryan, as strong as any magical current. It took all his willpower to remain where he was.

“Why are you here,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Ed clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon flinched as though the action had hurt. “Jon here detailed exactly how you helped him steal some of our blueprints,” said Ed. Ryan’s breath caught, but he still didn’t dare move. _What else had Jon spilled?_ “And my Funhaus friends had told me all about your reaction to my machine.” Ed started to pace, like a tiger considering its prey. “Imagine how upsetting it was, to have someone so strong break my prototype just by being there. Not even the data remained.”

Ed shook his head. _So_ upsetting.

“In my defense,” Ryan said, “I didn’t know what I could do at that point.”

“Indeed.” Ed hummed, looking the Vagabond up and down. “It’s not as uncommon as you think for Augs to be blocked off from their power.”

“Thanks for figuring all that out for me,” Ryan said dryly. “I couldn’t have done it myself.”

Ed hummed again, then stopped pacing and turned, facing Jon. “Jon told me all about how he researched for you, how you liked to him and used him, and how he figured out who you really were. Isn’t that right, Jon?”

Jon met Ryan’s eyes finally, but his expression was blank. Unreadable. Some strands of hair stuck to Jon’s face, to his cheek and forehead, but he made no move to brush them aside.

“Do you know _what_ you are?” asked Ed.

“An Aug,” Ryan said simply.

“Not just any Aug. A Harbinger. An angel, demon, fae. Whatever the old texts liked to call unique Augs like you. It’s just a shame that you can’t seem to fly and heal like some of the texts suggest. Embellishment, I guess.”

Ryan frowned, but didn’t answer. Ed had called him a Harbinger before. Consciously he knew that they thought _he_ was the angel instead of Ray, but it was still weird to be accused of it directly.

“Mostly, however,” said Ed with a sigh, “you are a criminal with unfortunately useful abilities.”

Ryan rolled his eyes.

“I must thank you,” Ed continued, pacing again. Jon stared at Ryan, still, unmoving and with that unreadable expression. “You’ve helped a good many of our hypotheses on magic and Augs recently. You’ve helped us prove that magic is a source separate from people, and that Augs are just the only ones with access it. You helped us better understand how to map this unique thumbprint that results from an Aug’s interaction with magic. And you’re the perfect stress test for our collar prototype.”

“Thanks,” said Ryan. “I hate it.”

Ed chuckled, one eyebrow twitching up. “That collar is the result of generations of research. The research I funded only built upon that. I made them look into the old ways of controlling Augs first, back before the little blue light was invented. Since magic is a separate entity from a person, we can intercept it before it reaches the Aug. The old times seemed to have understood that, but their rudimentary ways couldn’t quite control it. Only block it. Our modern technology can. It’s really quite clever.”

“Quite,” Ryan muttered. He glanced at Jon, but nothing had changed. He was, essentially, alone.

“Get some rest, Vagabond,” said Ed. He smirked. “We’re just about ready to show all of Los Santos what technology can achieve. In two days’ time, the whole city will know you.”

“Then let Jon go,” Ryan blurted. Jon blinked. “You have me. You don’t need him anymore.”

Ed tapped his chin thoughtfully. “No—no, I do.”

The skull mask felt too hot. Stuffy. “The fuck you mean?” Ryan snapped. “You haven’t needed him since I got here!”

The CEO gave him an odd look. “You’re very earnest for a Fake. And very naïve.”

Ed gripped Jon’s shoulder and turned, forcing Jon to turn with him to walk out the door. As they left, Jon glanced back at Ryan, and Ryan saw true terror in his eyes.

Then the door slid shut, and the Vagabond was once more solitary.

* * *

 

They left him alone for the better part of the two days. He used this spare time to rest and meditate as much as possible, gently but hurriedly coaxing himself to revisit old memories. Every time he got close, the memories seemed to strike back, making his pulse race. He stubbornly pushed forward, but the more he rushed, the harder the half-remembered emotions reared up and throttled him.

Once, the lab coats came by and did another stress test on the collar, pulling as much magic as they could through him until he thought he would combust. With great effort, he stayed silent through the entire test, even as threads of smoke choked his lungs. He focused on the smoke, tried to control it, but it was just as out of his reach as the rest of his magic.

When the lab coats left, he collapsed on the floor and was too weary to even cry in frustration and hopelessness. The CEO knew everything he needed to lock the Vagabond down forever and start corralling Augs. Jon, whether out of spite or exhaustion, had spilled almost everything to Ed. Ryan wasn’t even sure if the Fakes would do anything. And, now, there seemed to be a _third_ powerful Aug running around.

It was a lot to think about. It was a lot to not think about.

Some time later, Ryan was fed a meager meal and escorted to the bathroom. Then, Stephens arrived at his cell, two guards in tow. He carried a syringe and looked, if anything, bored. Ryan stood up straight and faced the lab coat.

“It’s time to go, Mr. Vagabond,” said Stephens. He raised the syringe, filled with some kind of clear liquid. “The city awaits you.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan said. “Fuck everything you stand for.”

Stephens shrugged and jerked his chins at the guards. The two guards strode forward and grabbed Ryan’s arms, shoving him back and holding him against the wall. Ryan strained against them, but Stephens still approached unfazed.

“You won’t win,” Ryan spat. He struggled against the guards to no avail. “I’ll escape, and I’ll come back here and burn this place to the fucking ground. I’ll hunt you down and make you wish you’d never been born.”

“Get some new threats next time,” Stephens said, putting a hand on Ryan’s throat. “Those are rather cliché.”

The needle pricked Ryan’s neck. Seconds later, he was floating away into blissful, heavy unconsciousness.


	36. In Which the Vagabond Is Put on Display

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually rolled a d20 for one part of this chapter! hehe
> 
> also shout out to my friend who sometimes reads chapters before everyone else to make sure i do things good. :)

Ryan struggled into consciousness. His head felt like a hundred pound bag of cotton all stuffed inside his mask, and everything was sluggish. He pushed against the hard metal floor, propping himself up on his arms with the effort of Atlas. If he waited maybe an hour longer, the tranquilizer would surely be out of his system, but he needed to gather his bearings _now._

There weren’t many bearings to gather. The first thing he noticed was the sound. An enthused murmur of a distant crowd of people. He was in a chain link cage, covered in a cloth here enough that light filtered in, but thick enough that he couldn’t see anything else. It was tall enough to let him stand, the top and bottom solid metal.

He touched his neck. Still a collar there. But the cuffs around his wrists were gone. He massaged his neck as best he could around the collar, easing the stiffness out.

A part of the cloth flipped up, and Adam peeked in. He met Ryan’s eyes, pursed his lips and scrunched up his eyebrows, then ducked out.

“He’s awake,” Adam reported to the world outside.

Ryan sighed and rolled his neck. Moments later, small blue lights lining the corners of the cage lit up, silencing the hum of magic that lay forever out of his reach.

Ed’s voice boomed around him, enhanced by a microphone loud enough to fill a stadium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,” announced Ed. “This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. My guard has just informed me that our subject is awake.”

A hush fell. Ryan got to his feet just as the cloth was ripped from the cage. He blinked in the sudden light, bright floodlights all aimed at the stage upon which he stood. They _were_ in a stadium, a crowd filling its seats. The entire stadium wasn’t filled to capacity, but the section the stage faced still had several hundred people. A couple monitors were set at the base of the stage, showing a couple different camera angles.

Ed stood at the center of the stage next to Jon, a microphone headset in his ear, one hand outstretched towards the cage. Jon did not even look at Ryan, and stared straight ahead at the crowd. Guards were scattered all around the stadium, standing at the entrances to the field and stairs. Funhaus lined the stage in full bodyguard gear. Even Lawrence and Joel, reportedly not usually on the front lines, were there.

Spoole, however, was missing.

“That’s right,” continued Ed, after pausing for dramatic effect. “This is the very same Vagabond you’ve been hearing about. Thanks to the technology my researchers have developed, I have successfully captured him, and after this, I will hand him over to the police. He is a powerful enough Aug that mere police on their own would have been unable to arrest him. Trust me, it was no easy feat!”

Ed turned towards the cage and nodded at Adam, who was the closest to Ryan. Adam glanced at Ryan, stepped back, then took a little device from his pocket and hit a button with his thumb. The blue lights around the cage winked out, and the walls of the cage fell away like a blooming flower. The crowd gasped. Ryan swallowed hard; the hum of magic returned, and the crowd recoiled in horror.

“Fear not, fear not,” said Ed, chuckling. “See that collar he wears?”

Movement caught Ryan’s eye, and he realized for the first time that the stage was being filmed. A nearby cameraman inched closer, zooming in on his face. There must be screens closer to the crowd. He did not want to do what Ed wanted him to do, so instead of glaring into the camera, he just stared at Ed.

“That collar is a part of the tech developed under Saga Systems. While he wears it, his magic is completely under our control.”

The crowd murmured excitedly. Heat washed over Ryan’s face and neck, and he clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. His pulse ran fast and hard. What was he going to do? Did his journey really end here? He looked past Ed to Jon, silently begging that his friend (ex-friend?) would at least spare him a glance. Was he really, truly alone here?

Ed beckoned to James standing behind him, and James handed him a touchscreen tablet. “I don’t have to be the one to tell _you_ how many criminal Augs stomp through our city—our _world—_ uncontrolled, until enough brave policemen are sacrificed to throw them in a dead cell. With this special program, however, we can use _his_ magic for _our_ benefit. No more Augs running rampant in our city!”

The collar warmed, jolting magic through him, and Ryan flinched before he could catch himself. His nails bit into the soft flesh of his palms.

“Now, instead of letting them waste away in a dead cell for the rest of their lives, useless, they can serve the society they injure!”

A thrill ran up Ryan’s spine, and he shivered. The crowd gasped again as white light enveloped him, then split into a rainbow that reached across the stage. An impressive, but empty, display. Wisps of smoke churned deep inside Ryan. He took in a deep, steadying breath. The smoke was his. The smoke was a part of him, and it was the only thing he could rely on now. The Fakes weren’t here; Jon was barely responding to anything around him; it was just Ryan. Just the Vagabond.

The air around him solidified, pinning his arms to his side.

“Ah,” said Ed, grinning at his captivated audience. “But my tech isn’t what you’re here for, no? You want to learn who this Vagabond is. You want to see his face, hear his name. Well, my friends, you won’t be disappointed. I have both. On your knees, Vagabond.”

A huge weight pressed down on Ryan’s shoulders. His knees buckled, and he fell, his kneecaps bruising against the stage. He grasped desperately at the smoke, felt sweat roll down his temple as he struggled to bring himself close to it. It was all he had.

He grabbed onto the smoke. And he held it.

Ed drew closer. He stretched out his hand to Ryan’s mask as the nearby cameraman zoomed in.

A familiar voice rang out through the speakers. “That’s real cute of ya,” said Gavin, using his low sultry voice, “that you thought you were live this whole time!”

“ _What!_ ” Ed cried. He glared at the monitors facing the stage. The image of his angry face flickered, then the screen turned black with a green rubber ducky icon. Ryan’s heart lifted. The Fakes.

Ed gestured fiercely at Adam and the rest of Funhaus, who were already jumping off the stage, weapons drawn. Guards and Funhaus alike fanned out, guns at the ready as they looked for the Fakes. Joel and Lawrence were also down, but hung back closer to the stage. Joel was the only guy on the field with his gun’s muzzle angled towards the ground. Ryan scanned the crowd, heart fluttering. _He wasn’t alone._ _They had come back for him._

The audience tittered, shifting and moving around, and Ryan realized with a jolt that all of the guards stationed in the seating area were gone. A slim man with a microphone attached to a carried box slipped out of the shadows of an entrance and stood proudly at the top of the stairs leading down between the rows of seats. He took one step at a time, each moment of his descent causing nearby people to recoil and retreat.

It’s funny,” said Gavin. “You spent so much effort and money on giving your researchers top security measures, but you barely do the same for your _public_ display. We’ve been feeding your footage back to you this entire time. Nothing has left this stadium.”

Ed growled into his headset. “You might have gotten in, but you won’t get out. I’ll catch you, too, you—you criminal!”

“Ooh, harsh,” Gavin said. “I’m hurt. No, I think we’ll just take our friend there and go.”

On cue, several members of the audience stood. Guns materialized in their hands, and they raised them up and fired into the sky. The audience screamed, surging into motion.

“Ladies and gents,” Gavin cooed, “if you would make your way to the exits in a calm and orderly fashion. We’re here for a very specific reason, and it’s not any of you.”

The other Fakes were beacons of motionlessness. They waited for the crowds and cameramen to flee from them, guns in hand as they stared down at the stage. Ryan couldn’t believe it. They had come. Even Funhaus was rooted in their places on the field between the stadium seating and the stage. Ryan couldn’t remember ever feeling as much joy as he did right then.

“You…” Ed spat. “You’re far outnumbered! My guards will take care of you lot!” He chuckled then, his teeth on show like a frenzied animal. Jon took a step back from him, eyes wide and looking very much like he wanted to flee with the crowd. “And I have the most powerful weapon—my Harbinger!”

He swiped furiously at his tablet, and Ryan shuddered. Magic burned through him, and he couldn’t help but hunch down. His grip on the smoke slipped, but he held on. He couldn’t do anything with it—wasn’t sure what he _could_ do with it, but he had it. A small part of him he could control. He had to protect the Fakes from himself.

“Jon,” he wheezed, glancing over. Only Jon was close enough right now to help. Jon blinked at him, shook his head. “Jon, help me, please. I’ll get us both out…”

Jon covered his ears and shook his head harder, squeezing his eyes shut. Ed strode back to Jon, grabbed him by an arm and yanked him closer. Jon yelped; Ed forced him to remain by his side.

“You are under _my_ control!” Ed roared. “You _both_ are!”

Ryan forced his head up, watching the Fakes make their way down the seated section towards the ten foot wall and railing separating them from the field. Compared to Funhaus adding their numbers to Ed’s remaining guards, all pointing their guns up at them, they seemed pitifully few. Even with Lindsay and Matt and Trevor from the Shadow Team, Ryan wondered if it would be enough.

But wait—where was Ray? The iconic purple hoodie was missing.

The magic in him jolted, making Ryan gasp. The top of the ten-foot wall in front of the occupied section all exploded, shooting off chunks of concrete and railing, and sending up a plume of gray smoke and hiding the Fakes from his view.

_No._ He couldn’t stop it, still. He held back as much magic as possible, but Ed yet used it freely. He gritted his teeth. On the outside, he stared at the grey smoke already dissipating, barely able to move for the spell holding him in place. On the inside, he waged a war against himself, fighting against surging rapids of magic, trying to grab as much as possible. Black acrid smoke churned in his gut, and he fought it down.

The smoke from the wall cleared, revealing a wobbling, faintly visible shield expanding in front of all the Fakes. Michael had his arms crossed over his chest like an X, and when he lowered them, grinning, the shield also fell.

“Cute,” Gavin crooned into the microphone, swinging the case by his side. “You think he’s your Harbinger.”

“Excuse me?”

Gavin tilted his head, and though he was a bit too far away for Ryan to easily tell his expression, he imagined Gavin was putting on his best smug face. The Fakes reached the edge of the seated area, aimed their guns at the people on the field and stage. It struck quite a view. The air was thick with tension, waiting for a pin to drop for a full out firefight to start. But for now, the guards and Funhaus hesitated, seemingly waiting to see where this was all going.

“He’s not your Harbinger,” Gavin said simply.

“ _I am._ ”

The voice came from above. Ryan craned his neck, squinted against the bright light shining against a dusky sky. A figure with wings of pure white light descended and landed in front of the ten foot wall. When he straightened, his wings folded like real ones before fading into nothingness, revealing the purple-clad man.

Ed was speechless, mouth hanging open, but his grip on Jon’s arm was still tight. Every time Jon tried to jerk away, he was jerked back.

“If you don’t mind,” said Ray, his voice echoing over the stadium, “we’d like our Vagabond back.”

_Our Vagabond._ Ryan was beaming under his mask, staring at Ray. He felt warm all over, and not just because of the magic flowing through him.

“Flight…” Ed breathed, also staring at Ray. Then his expression changed, sharpening into fury. “This changes nothing! I’ll have you _both!_ ”

Ed let go of Jon and swiped up on his tablet. The hair on Ryan’s arms rose as magic gathered around him. He read the spell forming, horror dropping in his gut like an ice cube. The sound of two dozen guns readying clicked and clacked as Funhaus and the Fakes took aim at each other. The magic burned, and tears sprung to his eyes. He couldn’t stop it. He _had_ to stop it.

Ed laughed. “You won’t hurt your Vagabond, but he’ll hurt _you!_ ”

Ryan let out a guttural scream, a raw _NO!_ fueled by terror of himself and fear for Ray and the others. And…

Something clicked. Fell into place. And he wrested the magic away from Ed, away from the collar. He drew it back into himself, took it in and gripped it with all his might. He held his smoke, wrestled it, forced it up and out. He tipped his head back and let it pour forth. Black, acrid smoke billowed around them, swelling and rushing to cover the stage so that he could no longer see the Fakes or Funhaus and the guards.

The spell holding him down shattered, and he stood. He channeled pure magic energy into the collar, feeling it grow unbearably hot, searing his skin, until it broke apart and crumbled from his neck.

 Ed stumbled back from him, tapping furiously on his tablet. The Vagabond chuckled, smoke pouring from him—not quite under his control, but more like he and it had a mutual agreement. It flooded the stage, spilling out around them all. His laughter built as he watched Ed watch him, until he couldn’t control it.

“I-Impossible,” Ed stuttered. The tablet slipped from his hand, clunking to the floor. “The—the collar…”

Black acrid smoke swirled and plumed up, filling the stage and the area around it with impenetrable darkness as it rapidly expanded. Whatever happened beyond the stage, they couldn’t see it. On the stage, the smoke was just thin enough to see each other.

Jon hadn’t moved much from where Ed had let him go, but now he knelt down with his hands clamped over his ears. Ryan ignored him for now. Soon this would be all over. For both of them.

The Vagabond took a step towards Ed. The CEO retreated against his slow approach, then reached into his pocket and fumbled out a small device. He jabbed his thumb onto a button, and blue lights lining the edge of entire stage winked to life. The Vagabond paused, feeling his magic slip away to silence. The smoke faded… but beyond the stage, beyond the blue lights, the smoke refused to dissipate at the same speed, remaining dark and thick, subduing sound. If the Fakes were fighting, he couldn’t tell.

He tilted his head at Ed. He still grinned, under his skull mask. He still had control over the situation. “Now that wasn’t very nice. Those are my friends out there.”

“I know you,” Ed spat. “I know everything about you!”

“ _Do_ you!” the Vagabond replied cheerfully. “Then, do you know what I’m capable of?” He took a step towards Ed. Ed glared, and to his credit, didn’t retreat more. “You thought you could control me. For a time, you did—but no one controls me, Ed. Not for long. You’re going to regret everything you did to me and my friend. I don’t need magic to kill you, and I certainly don’t need any special tools to make you regret every one of your decisions.”

He took another step. Ed tried to draw himself up under the Vagabond’s icy glare. It made him laugh. “I will tear your skin apart and pluck out your eyeballs while you bleed. I will pull your tongue out and make you bite it off yourself. I will rip your spine from your back and wear it like a scarf.”

He reached Ed. Towered gleefully over him. After so long under this man’s thumb, he was finally in control. Just him, Ed, and Jon were on the stage, and though he heard quiet shouting, and maybe muffled gunfire, no one came through the smoke. He trusted the Fakes to take care of themselves until he was done here.

“I only wish we had enough time together,” he chirped with mock disappointment. “But I’d rather not spend too much longer here. So why don’t we get started?”

“Yes, _let’s_ ,” Ed snarled. Ed’s hand darted under his suit jacket and yanked out a silver magnum pistol from a concealed holster. But, in order to use it, Ed had to flick the safety off and cock it, and by the time both were accomplished, the Vagabond had already tackled the CEO.

He struggled against Ed, grabbed both wrists and forced the gun muzzle away from his face. He headbutted Ed, cracked his skull against the other’s, and Ed recoiled and blinked, stunned. He took this opportunity to shove his entire weight against Ed, bringing them both to the ground. The gun was flung out of Ed’s grasp, and it skittered across the stage.

Ed tried to wriggle away from him, but he raised his fist and smashed it into Ed’s face. Ed struck back, hooked a fist back and nailed him right in the eye. He jerked back. Ed took the opportunity to draw his knee up and kick him off.

Ed scrambled to his feet, and he did the same. They both glanced around quickly for the gun, and froze when they heard the click of the hammer being drawn back.

Jon had picked up the gun, and now he pointed it at them. The very image chilled him, and his voice didn’t make it past his throat. He realized now, the image crashing into him, that he never wanted to see Jon hold a gun. He had never wanted Jon to be in a position like this. His lips stuck together, and he couldn’t make a sound.

“Jon,” Ed whispered. “Jon, if you know what’s good for you and the city, shoot the Vagabond. Save us from him!”

Jon didn’t blink, and didn’t move, appearing calmer than he had in a long while. The Vagabond could only stare as Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between them, the only hint of the gears spinning in his head.

“Jon!” Ed hissed. “Think of what he’s done to you! Betrayed you, used you—he won’t stop at anything to get what he wants!”

The gunshot rang out, louder than anything Ryan had ever heard before. His heart skipped a beat at the echoing burst of combusted gunpowder, and for a moment, for a second, he didn’t know what had just happened.

Ed choked wetly, gargled blood as his hand tried to hold his throat together. Ryan watched him fall to his knees, a bullet wound cutting across his neck. Jon approached the CEO, expression unchanged as he raised the gun to Ed’s forehead. Ed looked up, pleading, red seeping from between his fingers, death crawling up his throat.

“You know what you did,” Jon said, and fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rolled a d20 for Jon's first shot, since I wasn't sure how accurate/lucky of a shot to go with. He rolled an 18, so it was a pretty good hit. A nat 20 would have been an instant headshot, which could have been very cool, but would also be very lucky ;P


	37. In Which Jon Shot a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long! I ended up rewriting like almost the entire middle part of this chapter. Hope you like it! :)

Ryan ripped his skull mask off, feeling for the first time in a while like he could breathe. He stared at Jon, but Jon still looked at the slumped form of the CEO. The smoke around the stage was thinning, and he could hear indistinct shouting, like arguing.

“Jon…” Ryan said softly.

Jon fired another round into Ed’s body, and Ryan jumped at the noise. He took another step, then startled again when Jon fired a fourth time.

“Okay, stop—” Ryan darted forward and grabbed the wrist holding the pistol, shoving the muzzle away from the corpse on the stage. Jon resisted, trying to pull it away from Ryan, but Ryan twisted his hand and forced Jon to drop the gun.

“Stop it!” Jon cried, beating his free hand against Ryan’s chest. “Let me go!”

“He’s dead!” Ryan shouted back. “You don’t have to do anything anymore!” But he let go, and Jon yanked his hand back. Ryan thought he might run, but he just panted and stared at Ryan while rubbing his wrist, his expression pained.

Ryan reached out his hand, palm up. “We can go, now.” Jon’s eyes flicked down. Ryan snapped his fingers. “Hey. Don’t look at him anymore. Look at me. I’ll get you out of here, okay?”

Jon turned slightly so he could look out into the smoke. They both stood near the front edge of the stage, Ed’s body just behind them, blood pooling sticky. The smoke had thinned enough that they could see silhouetted figures. People were gesturing, moving sharply and shouting, but there didn’t seem to be a firefight. The smoke still muffled sound. What was going on out there?

“What will you do?” Jon asked quietly.

“Whatever I have to, here,” Ryan said. “I go with the Fakes.”

“And then?”

“I… go kill some lab coats and destroy a lab,” Ryan said honestly. Jon snorted, a hard gleam in his eye.

“Good.”

Ryan didn’t know how he felt about that response.

Jon bent down and picked up the pistol again. He hefted it, as though feeling its weight for the first time. Ryan resisted the urge to glance at the corpse again. It was over, just like that. After torture, after powerlessness, he was very suddenly back to “normal.” It didn’t feel real, and he could tell Jon felt the same.

“I’m glad you didn’t shoot me,” Ryan said.

Jon examined the gun, trying to figure out how to check the ammo. “Why would I?”

Ryan frowned. “Jon. I _did_ use you, before. Ed didn’t spout _all_ lies.”

“Yes. You did.” Jon gave up and handed the gun to Ryan. Ryan popped the magazine out and showed it to him. Jon took both pieces back. “Ryan. I don’t care. Not anymore. It feels like a hundred years ago, now. They tried to use all that to manipulate me. But it seems so petty compared to _them_. And besides…” Jon shrugged and shoved the magazine back into the pistol. “You apologized already. Several times and in more ways than one. I trust you. I’m keeping this, by the way.”

“Of—of course.”

Jon held the gun at his side and looked out into the smoke. “What the fuck is going on out there anyway?”

“No idea. They don’t seem to be fighting, though.” Ryan braced himself for the sight of the corpse and went back to Ed’s body. He fished the small device out of one of the pockets. He stood, Jon watching his every move, and jabbed the button. The blue lights lining the stage winked out, and Ryan let the sweet magic flood him again. He let the device fall from his hand and bounce against the stage floor as he joined Jon again at the front edge.

“Stay close,” Ryan told Jon. “I’ll protect you if needed.”

Jon nodded. Ryan stretched his hands out, felt the threads of his spell underneath his fingers. He dug in and ripped it apart. The smoke dissipated, and the sound of shouting rang suddenly sharp and clear.

Ryan scanned the field. Many of the guards were on the ground, dead or groaning. The three or four guards who remained standing seemed cowed, and looked very much like they wanted to leave, keeping to the back of Funhaus. The Fakes and Funhaus both faced off against each other, brandishing their weapons of choice. At some point, they had shifted so that to Ryan’s left was Funhaus, and to his right were the Fakes. They were shouting over each other so much that Ryan could not initially tell what they were arguing about.

Ray and Joel stood in the middle of the gap between the two groups, hands outstretched as though the force of their palms could keep the two gangs separated. Several people were bleeding; even Joel had his sleeve ripped and bloody. A graze, Ryan guessed. But Ray seemed unharmed, and seeing him, Ryan felt that everything would be okay, now.

Ray and Joel both glanced at the stage, noticing the smoke clear. They froze, taking in the scene on the stage. The shouting faded as the rest followed suit, until everyone was staring at Ryan and Jon. The emotions varied greatly, from the smile slowly growing on Ray’s face, to James’s twisting in anger, to Geoff’s sigh and disbelieving shake of the head, to one of the guard’s slack-jawed stare at his dead boss.

Ryan looked directly at James, resisting the urge to smirk. “Your employer is dead. I’ve escaped. It’s time to go home.”

“ _Fuck_ you!” James shrieked, gesturing fiercely at Ryan. “You’re not out yet! You only got this far because _someone_ is a traitor!”

“I’m not a—” Joel snapped back.

Adam put a hand on James’s shoulder, which James shrugged off. Adam said something to James, but Ryan couldn’t hear. Adam had a cut on his forehead, and he rubbed some of the blood off his brow.

“Can we all just agree to _calm down now?_ ” Ray said, glancing between the two gangs. “None of us have to die tonight…”

“Wrong, Brownman,” Elyse countered. Ray flinched. “Vagabond killed the CEO. A life for a life.”

“No fucking way!”

“If that’s how you want to play it—!”

“Guys…!” Joel pleaded.

Bruce cleared his throat, glancing at Adam. “He wasn’t— _actually_ one of us.”

“Are we _all_ just wishy-washy bitches?” Lawrence called.

Ryan felt buoyed by his magic, which purred against him, begging to be used. He kept it at the ready, confident he could have a shield when needed. He laughed a booming laugh.

“You really think you could take me!” Ryan said. James scowled. “Pathetic!”

“You’ll lose!” Geoff said, adjusting his stance where he stood at the front of the Fakes. He smiled lazily, shifting his assault rifle in his grip. “We have an angel and a—whatever the Vagabond is.”

“That’s right, bitches,” Michael said, a wild grin plastered on his face. “You’re fucking outclassed.”

“I’ll show _you_ outclassed,” James shot back.

“You’ve never been able to kill me,” Ryan said, laughter still bubbling in his chest. “What makes you think you can _now?_ ”

“Ryan,” Ray begged softly. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat.

The volume of voices began to rise once more, as other gang members picked up yelling insults and threats. Ryan clenched his fists, hesitating. He shouldn’t have added to the taunting; it was a miracle they were only shouting. Only Ray and Joel in the middle seemed to be stopping the pin from dropping. Maybe he could sneak Jon out another exit…

Ryan heard Jon mutter, “Alright,” and caught a glimmer of movement. By the time Ryan realized what Jon was doing, it was too late to stop him.

“Jon, no—!”

Jon got one shot off at James before Ryan tackled him, and his next two bullets went into the sky. Ryan threw up a shield against bullets, then quickly layered a spell shield over it. At the same time, James, being the trained marksman he was, automatically snapped his gun up to take aim at the stage. Joel lurched for him, waving his hands frantically.

“Hey, hey, woah, calm down,” Joel said quickly, grabbing James’s gun. James jerked his gun away and glared at Joel.

“He shot me!” James snapped.

Ryan pushed down hard on Jon’s wrist, but he held onto his pistol tight. “What are you doing?” Ryan hissed.

“Ending this!” Jon spat, glaring so fiercely that Ryan’s breath stole away. “I’m done being afraid to _move_ Ryan! Ed is dead, and I’m getting out of here!”

James was shouting back on the battlefield. Joel had his hands pressed against James’s shoulders, physically preventing him from marching across the gap to yell right in the Fakes’ faces. “He shot me! I deserve the right to shoot back! Fuck you!”

“He shot _at_ you!” Geoff shouted back. “We’re taking both of these men back with us, and if you hurt _either_ of them…”

“Hey!” Elyse stepped up. “You’re not being fair! If you want a fight, don’t be pussies about it!”

Ray began to glow, magic breezing around him in a warning. “We _don’t_ want a fight,” he declared, “but we _will_ if necessary.”

The gangs’ focus was back on each other. Ryan relaxed just a little—until Jon hooked a leg up and heaved against Ryan, rolling them both over. However, being so close to the edge of the stage, they slipped off and dropped the four or five feet to the ground. Ryan landed on his back, softening the impact for Jon, and stars blinked in front of his breathless vision. His grip on magic faltered, the hastily constructed shields shivering.

Jon rolled off of Ryan and shoved himself up with a groan, searching for the pistol that had fallen from his hand when they hit the ground. Ryan gritted his teeth and dug his elbows into the earth, struggling to sit up quickly. If he wanted to get Jon out of here in one piece, he had to get that pistol before him.

A canister hit the ground near Ryan, about the size of a spray can and riddled with several small holes—thrown by a guard who had turned his attention to them, the only guard with a mask of fury and hate as the other remaining guards tried to sneak out of the battlefield. Ryan sucked in a breath; a flash grenade?

He reacted instinctively, throwing up an arm to cover his own eyes, just as the grenade exploded in a blinding blue light. Shards of metal bit into his skin, his leather jacket taking the brunt of it. His magic was wiped away for a few seconds—for just a few seconds—leaving him faint and unshielded. Leaving _them_ unshielded. And Jon was between Ryan and the guard.

Ryan rolled, trying to get his feet under him while he blinked spots out of his vision. Jon had stumbled from the flash, and now he rubbed his eyes. He heard a click, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Jon!” Ryan cried, scrambling to his feet. “Get down!”

“Rya—”

Gunfire spat and exploded. Jon’s body jerked, and his words cut off. All the air in the world seemed to disappear with the snap of a bullet. Jon turned slowly to look at Ryan, three red stains blooming across his shirt. Jon stared, face gone pale, hands shaking as they drifted up towards his wounds.

“Oh.”

Jon dropped to his knees, then collapsed onto his side.

 _No!_ Rage kindled within him, and magic rushed back, filling his entire frame. They had gotten so far. _They were almost out._ “ _NO!_ ” he screamed. His hair lifted from his forehead, magic surging up, and he pushed it out in a shockwave. The stage rattled behind him, and everyone was shoved away to the ground.

Jon was still alive, for now. He had rolled onto his back and was staring up at the darkening sky. His breaths came in shallow, short gasps, and his hands pressed over his stomach.

“No, no, no,” Ryan moaned, kneeling next to him. “Jon—I’m so sorry, I…!”

Jon swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ryan,” he whispered. “It’s hard to breathe.”

“It’ll be okay,” Ryan said. His hands trembled as he folded them over Jon’s; the blood was warm beneath them. Words formed a sticky lump in his throat. It would not be okay. “It will all be okay!”

Jon grimaced and made a small pained whimper. Ryan squeezed his hand, slick and wet. He felt Jon start to relax beneath him. No, no, _no!_ They were almost out! There wasn’t anything he could _do!_ “I just… wanted… to go home.”

The guard got to his feet and adjusted his gun with a snap. Ryan straightened, turned towards the guard who now pointed his gun at Ryan. He was dimly aware of the stadium being eerily quiet, but maybe it was just the cold horror crashing against his head in stormy waves. His focus was on that guard.

“Ed is dead,” the guard said, aiming his gun right at Ryan’s chest. The guard’s voice shook, as though either on the border of laughter or sobbing. “If you ever got out, we’re supposed to kill both of you. You’ll pay for killing Ed!”

Energy sparked between Ryan’s fingers. His whole body trembled.

“You should have killed me first,” Ryan said softly.

He reached out his hand and channeled his magic at the man who shot Jon. He ignited the gunpowder inside, superheated the metal, and the assault rifle exploded in the man’s hands. He whipped his hands out, and the shrapnel stopped in midair, hovered for a split second, then tore towards the man. He squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the scream, heard the squelch as a hundred pieces of hot, jagged metal pierced the man’s flesh. He couldn’t find it in him to smile, to revel at the man’s torturous death.

Magic broiled inside him, mirroring the rage and grief he felt. _They were almost out._ He let his magic sweep him up, listened to its urges and guided it through. _They were almost out._ He had never felt so _one_ with his magic before, but now he felt it intimately. _They would pay for this._

Smoke and fire was what Ryan felt, so that was what he summoned. He turned his hands palms up, and fire licked his skin. Hot, but not unbearably so. Hot, but not hotter than anything he’d felt before. Magic churned inside him, broiled with his rage and begged to be released, pushed against him like he was a pressure valve. And with one, guttural scream, he released it, a wreath of fire exploding out of him and forcing everyone to dive to the ground to avoid it.

 _They were almost out._ He dug his magic into the stage behind him, buried tendrils into the ground and broke it apart. He could barely see through the tears in his eyes, both from grief and effort. Boulders of dense earth and wicked shards of metal stage rose up behind Ryan as he howled at the sky. It was no longer about escaping; he was going to end Funhaus right here, right now, and then he could round up every lab coat and guard and make them pay.

He hurled the boulders at Funhaus. James flung his hands out, and Lawrence stepped up with his protective magic, and together they knocked the boulders aside. The boulders thudded back to the earth all around the field, and some of the Fakes had to leap out of the way. Ray leapt into the air, spreading his wings of light.

“Ryan!” Ray cried. “Stop!”

Ryan reared back, the shards of stage quivering. He stared down James with hard eyes, and James glared back. He was not going to make it this far and _fail_. “This. Ends. Now!”

“You heard the man!” James shouted, setting his feet solidly apart and rolling his shoulders. The rest of Funhaus took their positions, guns cocked and aimed.

Geoff cursed. “Get to cover! Do _not_ let any of them hurt Ryan! Minimize casualties!”

Ryan barely heard them. He launched a piece of stage at James, who swatted it aside at the last second with a telekinetic spell. Ryan screamed as he threw piece after piece at Funhaus, wanting them to die, wanting them crushed. Most of the gang took shelter behind some of the boulders littering the stadium, but James hit Ryan’s attacks head on with his own.

Ray tried to fly to Ryan, but the moment he started moving, Elyse threw a flash grenade that blasted him with blue light, sending him crashing back to the earth as his wings vanished. Michael darted out and pulled Ray into cover behind their own boulder as bullets splattered the area around them. The Fakes gave them cover fire as Funhaus took pot shots. Joel had thrown himself to the ground and was army crawling back towards Lawrence, whose guardian magic deflected stray bullets in puffs of darkness.

Ryan let the heat rise within him. Smoke hissed from under his feet, and the shards of stage quivered around him and started to burn. He would kill every member of Funhaus, starting with James. He took a deep breath—saw James reach out and tear at the air like he was yanking an invisible net—felt a tug on his magic—

Something hard hit him in the back. His chest went all tight, his lungs all tight. Numbness bloomed cold from the inside out. His magic faltered and fled, the pieces he held plummeting to the ground as he stared at James’s hard eyes. Slowly, slowly, his eyes drifted down to look at the metal shard sticking out of his chest, the jagged tip dark and wet. He had thought James wasn’t close enough, had thought he had perfect control. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps in such a circumstance, one stretched the limits of their abilities.

 His heartbeat rushed in his ears. Everything seemed muffled, as though by a spell. He thought he heard someone scream his name. A few someones. His legs didn’t seem to work right anymore, and before he knew it, his knees had crashed into the ground.

His head felt like a thousand pounds, but still he raised it. He saw James cut his gloating short as a bullet from Gavin’s vengeful pistol lodged itself in his arm, and he scrambled for cover. He saw Gavin take a hit from Elyse’s assault rifle and collapse. He saw Michael spring up and chuck a grenade, face red and eyes full of tears, saw him stagger and fall next to Jeremy and Ray, saw the grenade explode next to Joel and Lawrence, whose magic could not quite save them from a close-proximity grenade.

Ray’s immeasurable magic might have helped, but Funhaus had tools to disrupt it, like those flash grenades and blue floodlights that had to be shot out. It crippled Ray’s ability to influence the fight. Ryan saw Trevor poke his head up to shoot at Funhaus only for him to flip back when a bullet grazed his temple; he saw James aiming for Geoff as he ran for Gavin; saw Elyse next to him take a hit from Jack’s assault rifle and go down; saw Peake huddled near the back, tying his own tourniquet around his arm; saw Lindsay screaming, saw Matt trying and failing to console her.

Ray had his head in his hands, rocking as he sat next to Jeremy, as though the will to stand and fight had entirely left him.

Blood pooled in Ryan’s mouth, but he could not cough around the metal in his stomach. People were screaming, shouting, crying. Blackness pulsed at the edge of his vision. His chest was too tight. He remained somewhat upright, more out of luck than effort. His spine curved and he let his head droop, so that his eyes fell once more on Jon. He reached out. Blackness edged further into his vision as he rested his hand on top of Jon’s still-warm one.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thought. Hot tears dropped off his cheek. _I tried._ They had been almost out. He welcomed the blackness, let it swallow up his senses. The only thing he had wanted was to rescue Jon and return to Ray. To be free again, to make up for his mistakes. But he didn’t fulfill his promise to Jon, and now he was leaving Ray all alone. When they had been… _happy_. _They were almost out._

He gave Jon’s limp hand one last squeeze. He received no response.

Another hand touched his, a gentle finger alighting on his knuckle. Comforting warmth blossomed from the touch, spreading to the rest of his body so that the cold numbness was scared off by this warmth. Lips kissed his forehead, and it became marginally easier to breathe. He looked up, and it was like the world was bathed in a golden light. Ray crouched in front of him, on the other side of Jon’s body, and his eyes looked so sad.

“We’re going to fix this,” Ray said. He bit his lip and glanced to the side. Why did he look so sad? Ray cupped Ryan’s chin and held his gaze. “I love you. Always remember that.”

Ray got up and turned back towards the battlefield. Distantly, Ryan was aware of the scored and torn patches of earth, of the bloody smears and fallen bodies, but his focus was on Ray. Ray walked towards the center, walked with purpose but without hurry. Spoole waited there, still gasping with his hands on his knees as though he had ran a long distance. But he straightened when Ray approached. There were a few other survivors who watched, but Ryan couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away to identify them.

“I wish I had been sooner,” Spoole said. “I—I should have been sooner.”

Ray shook his head. “Fucking… maybe. But we’ll fix this now. Help me save them _now._ ”

Spoole sniffed, his eyes darting around the battlefield. “But the amount of magic needed—we’ll be…”

“Nope,” Ray said. “ _I’ll_ be. I know you’re scared, but I need you. Without your help, I won’t be strong enough, and it will be for nothing. Trust me.”

Ray extended his hand. Spoole searched Ray’s eyes, before giving a determined, single nod. Spool grasped Ray’s forearm, and Ray did the same, and the moment they did, Ryan felt his hairs stand on end.

“Ray…” Ryan whispered. He could barely speak, but Ray still seemed to have heard him, for he glanced over his shoulder back at him. A breeze originated from the two of them, ruffling the grass and warming Ryan’s face. Something bad was going to happen, and he was too weak and weary to protest.

“This is the only way,” said Ray.

The surge of magic was massive and beautiful. Ryan would have trouble describing it later, but now the sight burned into his eyes so bright that he lost Ray and Spoole.

But it clicked, then, why Spoole was needed. Spoole was another angel, or something similar, something that could heal. He could feel it, now. It was unbelievable, and yet, Ryan remembered the odd moments, the strange instinctual feelings as though he was drawn to Spoole. The moments where Spoole was drawn to Ray. The moments where Ray must have felt it too, even if he didn’t understand. It was almost funny. Funhaus had been searching for the angel when they had had one this entire time.

The two angels filled the stadium with pure white light. Ryan watched in awe, filled with this warmth and numbness. Ray and Spoole together weaved a complicated spell, one Ryan could barely follow. It was mending— _healing._ The spell knitted the hole in Ryan’s chest back together, closed and cleaned up the holes in Jon’s body. Tendrils of magic snaked around the battlefield, and everyone it touched, it weaved an even more intricate, interconnected spell.

But something was wrong. This was too much, even for two angels. To defy death itself and heal everyone like this… Ryan was well familiar with the nauseating heat that emanated from the source of the white light. They were going to be destroyed while doing this.

 _No_ , Ryan remembered. _Ray_ would. Ray knew exactly how much magic his body could channel, and knew that it was too much.

Ryan scrambled to his feet just as Ray let go of Spoole. Spoole collapsed where he stood and didn’t move. Ray began to rise up off the ground, his spine arching back as magic tore through him. But he couldn’t stop now, or else the spell would fail. The magic wasn’t done knitting everyone back together. Ryan couldn’t heal, but he could do _something_.

He leapt over Jon’s body and raced towards Ray, who was little more than a star shining on Earth. His chest ached, but still he ran. The closer he got, the more unbearable the heat became. It became a force to fight against, as though the very air thickened and slowed him.

Ryan felt his own magic flow back through him. His was made from the same cloth—or perhaps all of theirs were. Maybe there only ever was one cloth. Whatever the case, when he drew the magic through him, the white magic bent around him—let him in.

The star that was Ray flickered like a lightbulb threatening to go out. He was fading. Ryan couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t lose Ray. If he lost Ray, then it would be as though he died back there anyway. He didn’t slow down, and he hurtled into Ray. He wrapped his arms around Ray’s middle, hugging him tightly against his chest. Ray dug his fingers into Ryan’s arms, kicking his feet as he struggled.

“No!” Ray shrieked. “What are you doing!?”

“Saving you, too,” Ryan said, and let his magic flow, raw and unspecified.

“Ryan, I can’t…”

“Use it!” Ryan insisted. _Use it or you rip yourself apart to put everyone else back together._

“You don’t know what will happen,” Ray sobbed. “Why? Why?”

“Please,” Ryan begged. “Please don’t leave me just like that. I love you.”

His magic joined Ray’s spell, let Ray use it as if it were his own. But Ryan’s magic was not suited to healing. It followed the path set and woven by Ray, and Ryan’s gut twisted in pain. It was like someone had tied a lasso around his middle with fiery-hot string as strong as steel but as thin as a thread.

The light flickered. He kept up his magic.

“Ryan,” Ray whined. He went slack against Ryan’s arms, and both of them sunk back down to the earth. Ryan shifted so that he could hold Ray more comfortably. “Don’t do this. I only wanted one casualty. One fucking casualty. Don’t—”

“It’s okay,” Ryan said. He pressed his mouth against the top of Ray’s head, let tears fall against his hair. He could barely breathe for his protesting body. The lasso tightened, until he thought he might be cut in half, but he could not stop the magic now. Not only did he not want to, but Ray was still fading in his arms, and he was not letting go.

“It’s okay,” he said again, his voice strained. Ray kept up the spell regardless, kept up the burning and weaving, and Ryan held him in his arms. Ray was his love, his home, and he never wanted to let go. If Ray was going to sacrifice himself for the others, then Ryan was either going to make sure that didn’t happen, or sacrifice himself as well. “We will all be okay.”

The thread squeezing him snapped, releasing all the searing pain into the rest of his body. Like a man suspended over a cliff, he was cut loose. He did not have time to cry out; he did not even have the time to gasp, before the pain overwhelmed him, and he crashed into deep, dark unconsciousness.


	38. In Which Two Gangs Climb Mt. Chiliad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for sticking around this long! If my predictions are correct, there will be two more chapters after this one. (oh wow, that would make it 40 chapters. How nice and even!) But we'll see, haha.   
> It's funny, though. I intended this to be quicker than the Rose Thief's 50 chapters and epilogue, but it's really not all that much shorter! Whoops!

 

When Ryan came to, he felt a hand stroking his cheek and hair. His eyelids fluttered open, and he looked up into Ray’s worried face. _Ray._ He was content to stare for a moment, drinking in Ray’s dark eyes and the small smile tugging at his lips. And then the recent events hit him all at once, and he sucked in a breath.

“Ray!” he whispered happily, throwing his arms around Ray’s neck and dragging him down in a hug. Ray laughed, letting Ryan pull him down and bury his face in his shoulder. Ryan was not too proud to admit that he cried. Ray rested his head against Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan squeezed him tight. They were still alive. They were both still alive.

The sound of Geoff clearing his throat made Ryan loosen his grip on Ray, and both of them sat up—though Ray still clung to Ryan’s side. “If you two lovebirds are done,” Geoff said, pointedly ignoring the fact that Michael and Gavin were passionately making out right behind him. “We gotta get moving before everyone in the LSPD is up our assholes.”

Ryan noticed now that everyone from Funhaus and the Fakes were standing around him. With the exception of Michael and Gavin, everyone was _also_ staring. They were all alive. Everyone he had watched fall was miraculously alive and well, with no wounds in sight. Well, everyone except for the hired guards. The spell had worked. His heart beat hard in his throat, and he peered through legs back towards the wrecked stage, and breathed a sigh of relief. Even Jon was healed, and he had sat up, rubbing his head.

Ryan wiped at his eyes and shakily pushed against the ground. It wasn’t until he tried to stand that he realized how much effort it was; his legs did not want to fully support him. Ray seemed equally as tired, and they struggled together until Geoff and Jack stepped in. Jack heaved Ray up, and Geoff steadied Ryan. Once Ryan was up, he could stay up, and he nodded at Geoff, who backed up again. Ray, however, hung on to Jack.

“I want to know why he ain’t dead,” James said, jabbing his finger at Ryan. Geoff rolled his eyes. “If I stab a motherfucker, I expect the motherfucker to _stay_ stabbed!”

“Oh shut _up_ ,” Adam snapped. He marched over and shoved James. “Get the fuck over yourself. Because of your obsession, all of us almost died—no, we _did_ die. We’re done fighting today.”

James glared, but one look at Elyse softened his expression. She was whispering to Peake, patting parts of her body—parts that had been shot. He nodded at Adam and stepped back. Adam glanced at Geoff and shrugged, gesturing him to go on.

“As much as I would love to explain what just happened,” Ray said, “the cops are going to be here any second. We need to leave _now_ , unless you guys want to deal with the LSPD.”

“He’s right,” Spoole piped up. “By the time I got here, they were already gathering forces. You guys can follow us to…” He paused to think. “Mt. Chiliad?”

“Works for me,” Geoff said. “If anyone gets on your tail, lose them. We’ll meet at the summit in about half an hour.” He closed the distance between him and Adam, and they shook hands.

Ryan smiled at Ray, then glanced back towards the destroyed stage. Jon slowly picked himself up off the ground, stumbling once he was up but keeping his balance. He looked bewilderedly all around the stadium, as though he was lost.

“Jon!” Ryan called. Jon’s face turned towards him. Ryan extended his hand. “Come on. We gotta move.”

Jon shook his head and tried to take a step back. His heel hit a piece of crumbled stage, and he windmilled his arms, just barely remaining upright.

Ryan opened his mouth, but Geoff patted his shoulder and lightly slapped his hand to make him lower it. “Look, Risinger,” Geoff called. “You know who I am, right?” Jon hesitated, then nodded. “I’m going to make your choice simple: You don’t have one. Either you walk over here, right now, or I come get you. Kapeesh?”

Jon glanced around the stadium, his gaze lingering on an entrance that was off to his right, and very far away. His shoulders slumped, and he jogged over. When he drew close, Ryan held out his hand again and draped his arm over Jon’s shoulders as the two gangs made their hurried exit.

“You look tired,” Jon muttered. He slipped an arm up to Ryan’s waist and adjusted his stance so Ryan could lean against him as they walked, which Ryan did gratefully. Jon glanced across Ryan to Ray, who was leaning against Geoff in a similar fashion. “So does he.”

Ryan chuckled. “A lot happened.”

“Yeah…” Jon fell quiet as they hurried. Ryan was still riding the euphoria of being alive, of everyone being alive, but Jon didn’t seem to share that same giddiness. He glanced around, at everyone and everything, slight confusion ever present on his face. Occasionally, his expression would falter, eyes going wide and breath hitching. Ryan gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Both gangs split up once off the field, each going to their getaway vehicles. Even here, Ryan could hear distant sirens. The Fakes picked up the pace, and as they jogged towards a few vehicles parked on the street, Geoff ordered Ray, Ryan, Jon, and Jack to join him. Jack gestured a spell, and each car revved its engine and popped its doors open. The Fakes piled in, and within a few seconds, they were off.

Jack drove the compact but armored black car, and Geoff took shotgun. Ryan squeezed in the middle of the back seat—as the biggest one in the back, this wasn’t the most comfortable, but Jon darted in and dragged Ryan behind him. Ray only looked amused at this, and happily let Ryan lean into him during the ride.

The car ride was quiet for a while. Geoff occasionally warned Jack of cop cars, or told him where to turn, and Jack would respond by bickering. The city slid by in a pattern of lamp posts and building. Eventually, these were replaced by the trees and darkness of the foothills. Consciously, Ryan knew he should be wired, he should be looking every which way for cops, but the car ride was oddly peaceful. Ray snuggled up against Ryan and quickly doze off. Ryan felt like doing much the same, exhaustion washing over him. Jon curled up on his seat and hid his face, and Ryan thought he had also fallen asleep until Geoff turned around in his seat.

“Risinger,” said Geoff, and Jon jerked his head up. “I’m going to be straight and honest with you. You’re in deep with the Fakes right now. That means I can’t just let you go after this. However…” Geoff shrugged and scratched his head. “We went through a lot of trouble to save you, and Ryan. And I know all about what you did for Ryan already. So it seems rather pointless to, ah, well… you know.”

Jon had gone very still, watching Geoff with wary eyes. Ryan frowned. “Geoff, don’t threaten him please.”

“I’m not threatening him!” Geoff retorted. He shook his head and flapped his hand. “No, no, what I’m saying is: Risinger, you can keep working for us. Not much will change for you, but sometimes we’ll call on you to do an odd job—with a paycheck to make it worth your while. In return, you have our protection, should anyone target you. But if you refuse, or we catch wind that you’ve spilled sensitive information, then we have to take measures.”

“You want me to join you,” Jon repeated, his voice flat and hard. He glanced at Ryan. “Join you and your criminal buddies.”

“It makes the most sense,” Geoff said. “You’ve proven your loyalty to Ryan. If you want to keep that loyalty, it will have to extend to the rest of us. But, I don’t want to make it seem like I’m forcing you to join. If you don’t want to be a criminal, that’s admirable. We’ll let you go for now, as fair payment for what you’ve done, and if you’re quiet for long enough, maybe you’ll just slip our minds.”

Jon just stared at Geoff as the car wheeled slowly up the mountains, picking its way along the dark roads. Geoff shrugged and turned back around, settling comfortably into his seat.

“You don’t have to answer now,” Geoff said. “But think about it. The question will be coming.”

Jon didn’t look at Ryan again, and instead elected to stare out the window for the remainder of the car ride. Ryan rested his cheek against the top of Ray’s head. Geoff hadn’t exactly _asked Ryan_ his opinion on what to do with Jon after this, but he knew Geoff had a point. If Jon didn’t pledge allegiance or disappear, he was a liability. Even if Ryan argued with Geoff beforehand, the decision and choice wouldn’t change.

Still… He didn’t want to lose Jon, especially after all they went through, but he also didn’t want Jon’s only option to be crime. He couldn’t imagine what was going through Jon’s head right now—and he couldn’t talk about it right now, not with Geoff and Jack listening.

Ryan ended up dozing off as well, snoring gently against Ray with a hand entwined in his. He didn’t mean to, but the exhaustion combined with the rumble and silence of the car lulled him under.

It felt like too soon the car stopped and the engine fell quiet. The sudden change in the noise and atmosphere woke Ryan up again, and he shook Ray awake as well. Jack glanced over his shoulder at the back seat.

“Time to get out,” said Jack. “We walk the rest of the way to this summit. The others are already there.”

“We took the scenic route,” Geoff joked, stretching and peering down the dark hiking path winding up the rest of the mountain. Another car was parked here already. Jon didn’t exit the vehicle until Jack went to his side and pulled the door open and held it open until Jon crept out. Jack didn’t make any threats, verbally or nonverbally, but by the patient way Jack held the door open, waiting, it was clear Jon would not be allowed to remain behind.

The rest of the hike was theoretically easy, but Ryan and Ray both stumbled frequently, Ray moreso than Ryan. It was dark and they were tired, which made for sloppy footwork. Jon stuck close to Ryan, and after _he_ stumbled in the dark, he clung to Ryan’s arm as though afraid of being left behind.

They neared the top of the mountain and slowed. Someone had set up a ward, not noticeable until one was right up close, and beyond it Ryan could see a dozen shadowy figures standing in a loose circle. Ryan studied the weave of the spell, and realized all it was doing was dimming light, making it harder to notice people on the mountain in case police helicopters flew this way. The others walked through it easily, but Jon halted before he would cross it and held Ryan back too.

“What’s the matter?” Ryan whispered.

Jon furrowed his brow and reached out his hand. He tried to splay it against the edge of the ward, and seemed confused when his hand passed through it.

“You see this?” Jon asked.

“What, the ward? It won’t hurt you.”

“No, I—oh. I guess that’s what it is. Did you… always see magic?”

Ah. That explained that. Ryan hummed. He hadn’t really thought it strange before, but… “Once the mental block separating me from my magic was gone, I could ‘see’ it, yeah. Sense it.”

“Like out of the corner of your eye,” Jon muttered.

“Regs don’t normally see it, I guess,” Ryan said. He frowned. Did the angels’ spell have weird side effects?

“But I see it,” Jon insisted. “And there’s this… _line_ , this _thread!_ I catch glimpses of it, between all of us. I don’t…”

“Oi!” Geoff called from the summit. “Are you two idiots serious? Get over here _now!_ ”

“It’s just a light ward,” Ryan added quickly. “Come on, before he gets actually mad…”

Ryan gave Jon a little tug, and together they crossed the edge of the ward. The moment he was through, the shadowy figures were suddenly no longer shadowy, bathed in flickering orange light, and a campfire crackled greedily in the middle of it all. Funhaus kept to their side of the campfire, and the Fakes stuck to theirs. Ryan and Jon went to stand next to Jeremy, who nodded at their approach. Ray, Geoff, and Jack stood at the front of their group, while Joel, Adam, and Spoole stood at the front of Funhaus. James, notably, hung back, his arm around Elyse’s shoulders. He narrowed his eyes at Ryan, but did nothing else aggressive.

“Everyone here now?” Adam asked.

“Yep,” Geoff said. “Now, I don’t want any fighting anymore, got it? No drawn weapons, no magic, nothing. We’re here to _talk_ and _negotiate_ now. Can this be agreed on?”

“You got it,” Adam said. “Shouldn’t be any problem.”

“Good,” said Geoff. He cleared his throat. “Ray? Spoole? Mind explaining what the fuck just happened? Any why the people that should be dead, aren’t?”

Spoole shrugged and gestured at Ray. “It was mostly his idea. I just helped.”

“Right, and you’re an angel, too, and didn’t tell us!” James said sourly.

“I didn’t know!” Spoole insisted. “I didn’t know until a few days ago! And by then, it seemed like a better idea to leave.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ray stressed.

“Anyway,” Spoole agreed. “When I left the research center, I went and found Ray. I could… sense him? Like I could feel his energy signature. Joel had already been to talk to the Fakes again, but this was just between Ray and me. I wasn’t even sure if I or this spell would be needed.”

“Between the two of us, we figured we could combine our healing powers as a last ditch effort,” Ray continued. “If it got as bad as Spoole feared, we could pool everything we had and try to fix things. Brute force it, in a way. We knew the dangers of trying to do that, but we weren’t really intending to fight anyway. I kept it as a last resort, and didn’t tell Geoff ‘cause I knew he’d try to stop me.” He cast an apologetic look at Geoff, who scowled. Ryan, however, felt his heart swell with pride. He couldn’t help it; Ray had been willing to sacrifice himself for everyone else.

“So, uh, long story short,” Spoole said, “we healed everyone.”

There was no sound but the fire, snapping between the cracks of silence.

“What about these lines?” Jon piped up. Everyone turned towards him, and he reflexively flinched closer against Ryan. “These—these lines I’m seeing sometimes between everyone.”

“The spell?” Ray asked. “You’re seeing the spell?”

“I—I guess?”

“I’m seeing it, too,” Geoff said. “And if two Regs are seeing it…”

“Not just Regs,” Jack said. “It used to be really hard for me to see spells so easily. I think Ray and Spoole, and maybe Ryan are the only ones used to it. We’re all seeing it.”

The rest of the group chorused and confirmed they were seeing it, the chatter gradually rising in volume. Ryan studied the little golden white line that flashed at the edges of his vision.

“We’re… connected,” Ryan announced. The others quieted, and he looked Ray in the eye. “It didn’t just heal us that one time. It’s still here.”

“You mean…” Michael mumbled, trying to understand.

“We’re effectively immortal,” Ray said, his voice hollow and flat. The blood drained from his face as he studied the spell he had cast without fully understanding. “As long as one of the people who cast it is alive, the spell will remain alive, and we won’t stay dead.”

“He’s right,” Spoole said eyes wide. “This is too tangled up, too. Super fucking complicated.”

“How did you not know this would happen!?” Lawrence said sharply, not letting the silence settle again. “How did you cast a spell without knowing what the fuck you were doing?”

“I don’t know!” Ray snapped back. “My family was dead or dying, then Spoole showed up, and we just _did_ it. I figured it out as I went along, I don’t _know_ all the fucking side effects!”

People started raising their voices again, arguing about spell responsibility or potential side effects beyond what they already figured out, or even whether they would actually come back again, but the words faded into a jumbled mess for Ryan. He could feel Jon shivering in his side, the small shiver of a man cold and very tired. He wasn’t sure what else this spell did either. It was such a knotted mess that Ryan couldn’t read any more into it. And then he also wasn’t sure how it would interact with dead zones… It was a lot.

 “Alright, alright!” Adam yelled, raising his hands to shush everyone. “We’re not here to argue why. What happened, happened. Look, Geoff, Fakes. It’s been a rough few months. I’ll be the first one to admit that.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Jack muttered.

“I think we both need time to recover,” Adam said. “I propose a ceasefire.”

“And I propose you leave Los Santos,” Geoff said simply.

“Now hold on!” protested Elyse.

“I’m not agreeing to anything like that!” James said.

“Oh shut up,” said Bruce, smacking James’s arm.

“ _Geoff_ ,” Adam said incredulously. “We’re at a stalemate, not a defeat. You don’t have that kind of power over us. You want us to pick up and leave our territory here, just like that? No offense, but you’re fucking insane. We fought too hard for that land!”

“Wait, wait,” said Jack, stepping up between them. “I suggest an official truce. Peace between gangs. Funhaus, there’s land further up the coast. There’s only a few small fry gangs running around that city.”

“Aw, Jack,” Geoff whined. “ _I_ wanted that land.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “We don’t need it, Geoff, and we’re in no position to manage it well from this distance. So, Funhaus, it would be easy for you to claim it, and we can give you all our intel on it. Until you go, we don’t tread on each other’s toes here. We’ll agree that we won’t contest you there, if you don’t contest us here.”

“Oh I like that plan,” Joel said immediately. “I’ve been wanting to skip town ever since we agreed to work with that dreadful CEO.”

“Burn and flee,” Spoole agreed.

Adam wrinkled his nose and rolled his shoulders. He glanced around, gauging the expressions on his gang’s expressions. “We need time to consider that,” Adam said finally. “We can’t make a decision like that recklessly.”

“You’re considering it!?” Lawrence blurted.

“I’m just keeping our options open!”

“Need I remind you,” Geoff added, “that we have two _very_ powerful Augs on our side, while you have just one—who doesn’t want to fight us, either.”

“We don’t die anymore, Geoff,” James droned. “That’s not very scary.”

“Who said this was a threat to kill?” Geoff said, examined his nails.

“Alright, alright,” Adam hushed. “We’re not deciding this over a campfire right after we all just died.”

“Honestly, we’ve been at a stalemate for a long time,” Joel reasoned. “This city is getting pretty crowded. But we can discuss this in further detail later. I’m just glad we know what happened.”

“And we can agree to a ceasefire,” Jack added.

“Yeah,” Adam sighed. “Ceasefire.”

“Shake on it,” said Geoff, extending his hand. “In front of all witnesses here.”

Adam stepped forward, clasped Geoff’s hand, and gave it a firm shake. “On behalf of Funhaus, we agree to a ceasefire. We’ll keep to our territory except for further meetings with you, and you’ll keep to yours.”

“On behalf of the Fakes, we agree as well,” said Geoff. He let go of Adam’s hand and backed up. “I think we’re done here. Give our proposition some talk, and we’ll set up another meeting when you’re ready.”

Funhaus slunk off after that, all of them disappearing back into the night down Mt. Chiliad. The Fakes remained for a time, drawing close to each other in clumps as they let Funhaus get farther and farther away. Michael, Lindsay, and Gavin all huddled together, while Jeremy went to join Matt and Trevor in a quiet discussion. Ray got pulled aside by Geoff and Jack. Ryan went and sat down next to the fire with a sigh and let his head hang. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, nothing more than to hold Ray, knowing they were both alive, and wake the next morning believing this was all just a bad dream.

Jon sat down next to him. Ryan raised his head to look at him, and before he could react, Jon had flung his arms around him and was hugging him tightly. Jon squeezed so tight that he squeezed the air out of Ryan’s lungs, but Ryan didn’t dare complain. Instead, he just returned the favor.

“Are we really immortal?” he asked quietly. He pulled back to look at Ryan in the eye.

“It would seem so,” Ryan said. “To a degree. It’s not perfect—a lot of the spell was improv.”

“Mm.” Jon glanced around the campsite, looking over the Fakes. “It doesn’t feel real,” he admitted. “It was just like falling asleep. But I’m awake, and they’re gone. Or will be gone,” he added, glaring at the fire. “You’ll make sure there’s no loose ends.”

“Of course,” Ryan said. “I’m not letting those lab coats get away with anything. I’ll see to it personally if I have to, but the Fakes will help.” Ryan grinned over at Ray, who was still in deep, quiet discussion with Geoff and Jack. Ray didn’t notice him, but Ryan didn’t mind.

“Mm… Ryan.”

“What.”

“I’ve been thinking about Geoff’s offer.”

Ryan blinked, and an odd sort of horror dripped poisonously down his throat. “Jon, you don’t have to…”

“Hush,” Jon said quickly. “You’re thinking it’s your fault. Making it look all savory and hunky-dory. No—I’m tired, Ryan. With everything that happened recently, you and the Fakes have been the only ones who tried to free me. And I’m tired of bureaucracy, and rich people who think they can use me and do whatever they want just for profit. And you know, this whole thing just sounds pretty damn appealing, if I never have to go somewhere like the research center again. I don’t think you’d ever let the Fakes use me like that.”

Jon glanced around the campsite, and Ryan did the same. His eyes lingered over Ray, over Jack and Geoff who were starting to make each other laugh again, though they tried to stay serious; over Michael and Lindsay and Gavin, who were all just so happy each other was alive that they couldn’t stop brushing each other with brief, gentle touches; over Jeremy and Matt and Trevor, who were laughing to themselves, and Jeremy caught his eye and nodded at him with a big grin.

“What do they mean to you?”

Ryan tore his eyes away from Jeremy. “What?”

Jon jerked his chin at the rest of the Fakes. “Them. I want to hear what you think, before anything else.”

Ryan bit his lip. “Please sleep on it,” he said. “Don’t make the decision tonight.”

“Of course I won’t,” Jon said. “I’m not making a huge change like that on a dime. Just tell me what they mean to you.”

Ryan sighed. He could probably wax on and on about Ray and the others. This had been a life he hadn’t known he wanted before, and now he never wanted to leave it. They protected him, gave him freedom, and he had dedicated himself to returning the favor.

“To me?” he said. “The world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HE SAID THE THING!


	39. In Which Ryan Gets Some Well-Deserved Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a little longer! I wanted to write both the last chapters together so that I didn't miss anything. The last chapter should be up in the next few days!

“Alright.” Geoff clapped his hands, getting the Fakes’ attention. “We’ve been up here long enough. It’s time to get moving again.”

Ryan yawned and stretched. Jon had been nodding off, his head dipping low only to jerk back up occasionally. Ray came over and offered his hand, which Ryan accepted gratefully. When he was pulled up, Ryan stayed close, wrapping his arms around Ray’s waist and smiling down at him. Ray reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair back from Ryan’s forehead.

“Finally done chatting with the boss?” Ryan asked quietly.

“Mhmm.” Ray rested his cheek against Ryan’s chest, pressed his ear against his heartbeat. “I’m ready to sleep for a week.”

“Me too.”

“You’ll be happy to know,” said Geoff, approaching Ryan, “that Shadow Team has been working to break into the research lab’s data. If there’s any personal information about you stored in their files, it won’t get out.”

Ryan’s heart thrummed. He and Ray separated so he could face the boss. “Thanks, Geoff. But… some of the lab coats still know. You know, in their noggins.”

“And the sooner we round them up, the better,” Geoff agreed. “Which brings me to our next mission. You and Ray can go home and rest. Everyone else is still good to go, and the lab coats should still, for the most part, be at the research center. If not, we’ll know where to find them through their employee records, provided they don’t go into hiding.”

“Geoff—” Ryan protested. _He_ wanted to burn the research center to the ground, or at least see it happen. The mere thought of that place kindled a rage in his gut.

“Now I don’t wanna hear any arguing,” Geoff said, raising his hands defensively. “You and Ray can barely hold your own fucking heads up, and we need to act before any of them researchers decide what to do about themselves.” Then Geoff stepped close and clamped a hand on his shoulder. He lowered his voice and said, “Look, buddy. Grab some grub on your way home. Take a shower, get some fresh clothes. You need it—and your friend, too.”

Ryan sighed, defeated. When Geoff was right, he was right. He shared a glance with Jon. He was startled by how the firelight accentuated the shadows under Jon’s eyes, clothes ragged and his hair a mess, how the light made his cheeks seem hollow. Ryan knew he himself didn’t look much better. “Okay, okay… I understand. But… I have one request. Save one for me—Stephens, if you can.”

Geoff blinked, but it was clear he understood, and he studied Ryan’s face. “Of course,” he said.

Ryan grinned. “Thank you.”

Something about his expression made Geoff shiver. The boss turned away to address the other Fakes. “Matt, Gavin, use one of the cars to take Ryan, Ray, and Jon home, then rejoin the rest of Shadow Team. Everyone else, with me. We’ve got a research center to burn before the CEO’s body hits rigor mortis.”

Geoff headed away from the campfire and back down the hiking trail. Michael whooped and punched the air.

“Fuck yeah! I _do_ get to blow something up tonight!”

Lindsay cackled as he sprinted off after Geoff. She ruffled Gavin’s hair in farewell before following suit. The rest of the Fakes started trailing after him at their own pace. Before Jeremy could leave, Matt suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. Ryan smiled after them as he turned to help Jon up.

“I like this ‘go home’ plan,” said Jon, raking his fingers through his hair once he was on his feet. “This is a good plan. I would like to go home, now, and not be awake anymore.”

Ryan hesitated, and he caught Jeremy’s eye as Jeremy was heading out. Heat rose to Ryan’s cheeks. He had briefly forgotten, but… “Oh—Jon… your apartment, it, uh…”

“What?” Jon stared at Ryan, tilted his head.

“It caught fire, man,” Ray said, patting Jon’s shoulder. Jon went pale. “Whole place kind of… went up.”

“Oh, god,” Jon groaned. He hung his head and put his face in his hands. “No… all my stuff… I wasn’t sure if it had actually…”

“Oh it’s not so bad,” Gavin piped up, coming up on the other side of Jon and draping an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll help you get set back up again. Plus, I think we can salvage some of your laptop’s hard drive data.”

Jon shook his head, his face still hidden. Ryan stepped up and gently prodded away. “I still have your camera, too, safe and sound. Okay, come on. You can stay at my place again tonight. I doubt you want to be alone anyway, yeah?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Gavin said, grinning broadly. “We can go to Meg’s house. We’ve got spare clothes and plenty of beds there.”

“I really don’t care,” Matt called from the other side of the campsite. Ryan had almost forgotten he was there. “Can we just get going? We need to help Shadow Team and I’m hungry.”

Gavin darted away to join Matt. “I’ll drive!”

“No you won’t,” Matt said simply. The two of them started down a different trail without waiting for Ryan and the others. “Jeremy gave _me_ his keys. He does _not_ trust you to drive.”

“Oh Christ,” Gavin said, wrinkling his nose. “We’re taking _his_ car?”

“Yeah, I mean, the others are taking Geoff’s and Michael’s…”

“Guess we better go,” Ryan said. He tugged Jon’s arm, and Jon finally started walking. “Come on…”

Ryan looped his arm through Jon’s just to make sure Jon would keep up. Ray grabbed Ryan’s other hand, and Ryan laced his fingers together with Ray’s as they trotted after Matt and Gavin. Ray waved his free hand as they started their descent, and the campfire behind them winked out. Ray bumped his head against Ryan’s shoulder with a tired sigh.

“What did you and Geoff and Jack talk about for so long?” Ryan asked.

Ray shrugged. Jon stumbled over a dip in the ground he didn’t see, and Ryan braced himself as he held up almost all of Jon’s weight for a few seconds. “We needed to kill time to let Funhaus get away, so we talked about the healing stuff. Geoff wondered if I should be hidden away, or something, or if I shouldn’t be on missions anymore in case I accidentally get killed. Jack and I reminded him that it’s only dangerous if I _and_ Spoole _and_ you die before any of us regenerate. So we talked about that for a bit, and then we kind of… got off topic,” Ray finished with a grin.

“Wait, and me?” Ryan repeated.

“Well, yeah,” Ray said. “You helped cast the spell. You’re tangled in the center, too. By the way, saw how well you were using magic back there. I mean, Jack’s kind of pissed that you initiated the fight, but I was proud of how you finally seemed to _get_ it.”

Jon snorted. “Glad there’s _some_ silver lining to this.”

Ryan cringed guiltily. In perspective, it did seem rather silly to celebrate that. Instead, Ryan quickly deflected. “Is Jack really mad at me?”

“Nah,” said Ray. “I think the fight was unavoidable, really. It just would have taken longer to get there.”

“And I’m just _happy_ to be here,” Jon muttered angrily, his focus on the dark ground ahead.

Ryan fell silent. Matt and Gavin were quietly bickering about something further ahead. Matt was using a flashlight, and he regularly swept its beam over the path in front. The only other sound was chirping crickets and the crunch of dirt beneath their sneakers.

“Talk to me,” Ryan said softly.

Their footsteps crunched.

“I can’t,” Jon whispered. His voice sounded thick, strained. “Not now. Please let me be.”

Ray cleared his throat. “Uh. Yeah. So—you guys feeling burgers, or what. I think there’s a McDonald’s on the way.”

Ryan lifted Ray’s hand and kissed his fingers. “Burgers sound great.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Jon muttered. “Is that car really _purple and orange?_ ”

Ray burst out laughing. They had reached Jeremy’s car, and Matt’s flashlight caught the boldly colored paint. Ryan snorted and shifted so he could pat Jon on the back.

“Yup. That’s our ride.”

* * *

 

They swung through a fast food drive thru and ate in the car on the way back to Meg’s house. With food in their bellies, they all felt a lot better as Matt parked on the street in front of Meg’s. Matt and Gavin both twisted in their seats to look at the others in the back seat.

“The rest of Shadow Team is at a different location,” Matt said, “but it’s nearby. Meg can take care of you, but if for some reason you need us, you can call.”

“Jon looks about my size?” Gavin estimated, squinting at Jon. “I’ve got loads of spare clothes stashed here, just ask Meg for a few.”

“Right,” said Jon. He undid his seatbelt and popped the passenger door open. “Thanks.”

“See you later, Vav,” Ray said. “Have fun.”

Gavin grinned wickedly. “Oh you know I will, X-Ray. Sleep tight!”

Ryan followed Jon out of the car, and Ray slipped out the other side. As soon as the doors were closed again, Matt drove off, the purple and orange car quickly disappeared around a corner. Ryan grimaced at Meg’s front door. The exterior light illuminated the path, and the lights in the living room were still on.

“Time to face the wrath of Meg…” he muttered.

“Ooh, yeah,” Ray agreed. “You technically _did_ get Gavin killed. Which she _said_ you would.”

“Is she that scary?” Jon asked.

Ryan shared a glance with Ray. “Uh… not _usually_ ,” Ryan said. “But I, uh, haven’t seen her in a little while… and she might be pissed...”

Jon sighed. “Well, you probably deserve it. I just want a shower and a bed, now, please.”

“Ah, yeah… you’re right.”

Ryan led the way up to the front door. He raised his fist, braced himself, and knocked. He heard movement inside immediately, and he stepped back as the door was flung open.

_“Ryan Haywood._ ” She slapped him across the cheek. “Fuck you, Ryan.”

Ryan rubbed his stinging cheek as Meg glowered at him. “Yeah… That’s fair.”

Meg glanced past him and blinked at Jon. Then realization flashed. “Oh. You’re the guy. Jon.” She pursed her lips as Jon gave her a little wave. “Dare I say, a big part of the reason for this mess.”

“Um. _Sorry?_ ” Jon said, not at all sincere. Meg shook her head and reached out her hand towards him.

“Whatever. Come in. You look terrible. I’ll get you some spare clothes.”

Jon gave Ryan an incredulous look as he moved past him. Meg put her hand on Jon’s back and led him inside. Ryan grinned sheepishly at Ray and shrugged.

“Could have been worse,” Ryan said.

Ray snorted. “Don’t count your chickens yet.”

Ray entered ahead of Ryan, so Ryan turned around to shut and lock the door again. By the time he was done, Meg and Jon had disappeared upstairs. Ray had gone to the kitchen for the fridge, so Ryan joined him. Ray set a can of Diet Coke on the island counter and cracked open a flavored sparkling water for himself.

“We haven’t really had time alone since…” Ray trailed off. Ryan leaned against the counter, opposite Ray.

“Hard to believe it’s over,” Ryan agreed. “Or… almost over.”

“Over for us.” Ray picked at the tab on his can. “Are you okay?”

“I mean—yeah, I think so,” Ryan said honestly. “Ed’s dead. The lab coats soon will be. Jon’s safe again. Funhaus has backed off finally. And… we’re, uh, effectively immortal. I’d say I’m fine.”

“If you say so…” Ray watched him for a few moments. Ryan met his dark eyes easily, content to just share his presence in the silence. But then Ray sighed and came around the counter to rest his head against Ryan’s chest. “If you change your mind, I’m here.”

“I know,” Ryan said. He stroked Ray’s hair, his heart strangely heavy. “We’re both pretty tired, why don’t we head to bed?”

“Mm,” Ray agreed. “If you insist.”

* * *

 

Ryan awoke with a tightness in his chest. He awoke sweaty, cold, and feeling like death. He awoke and bolted upright, clutching at his chest, feeling for a hole that wasn’t there, for a shard of metal that wasn’t there. Magic whispered in his ear as loud as his heartbeat. He had been dreaming, but of what, he already forgot.

Ray stirred next to him in their shared bed. He grunted softly, as Ryan fought to catch his breath, and one sleepy eye peeked up at Ryan from the pillow. After a moment, Ray pushed himself up and rubbed Ryan’s back. Ryan sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of Ray’s hand and its soothing movements.

“Talk to me,” Ray said softly.

Ryan let his head hang. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I just… I thought I was dying again.”

Ray stopped rubbing Ryan’s back and folded his hand over Ryan’s, which was over his thumping heart. “You’re here now,” said Ray. “Heart’s still going strong.”

Ryan took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. “Yeah. Still going.”

“You’re still tired,” Ray said. He reached up and brushed some of Ryan’s hair back from his forehead, then pulled Ryan’s face to look at him, his thumb running over his short beard. “You should try to go back to sleep.”

Ryan sighed again. He felt calmer, but his nerves were still wired. Restless. He needed to burn off this anxious energy before he could fall asleep again. “Yeah, I—I think I’m going to go get a glass of water first.”

“Ryan…”

“I just… need time to think, okay? I’ll be back soon, I just need to think.”

“Okay…” Ray pulled Ryan’s face closer and kissed his forehead. As Ryan threw back the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, Ray added, “I’ll be here.”

“I know you will.” Ryan flashed him a smile. Ray snuggled back under the covers as Ryan crept out of the room, easing the door shut behind him. He padded down the hall and down a few steps, before stopping and sitting on the stair. He put his face in his hands and concentrated on his breath. In, hold, out. In, hold out.

What was _wrong_ with him? He was fine. Why did his body have to remind him that he had had a lethal injury? _He was fine._ In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Magic roared in his ears, begging to be used, begging to flow through him. His heartbeat mimicked its thrum. Instinctively he reached for it, wanting to quiet it, wanting to feel the sweet energy rush…

But it wouldn’t come. His breath caught. His hand lowered to his throat, scratched across his skin. No collar. But it wouldn’t come. He was… just tired. Yeah. He was still exhausted from yesterday. Burned out.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

That glass of water sounded real appealing right about now. He stood, raking his hair back from his forehead, and was about to restart his descent when he heard a soft voice—one he didn’t recognize coming from the living room. He listened, his nerves tightening. He couldn’t tell what it was saying, but it carried a cadence like a news anchor. It was probably around four in the morning. Who was here?

Ryan crept downstairs, keeping his footsteps light, and he peeked around the entrance to Meg’s living room. The lights were off, but the television filled the room with a pale blue light. Jon was watching the news from the couch, his eyes listlessly glued to the screen. A news anchorwoman was reporting.

“…during the recent criminal lockdown at the Maze Bank Arena, approximately eight hours ago, several hired bodyguards were found dead at the scene. The LSPD has not released confirmed numbers, but Edgar Wright, CEO of Saga Systems, is confirmed among the casualties. No other civilian casualties have been reported at the scene. A black skull mask found at the scene suggests it _was_ the Fakes. However, the research lab Wright funded, too, has been destroyed, and many of the scientists inside were trapped in the wreckage. First responders are still searching the rubble for survivors. It is unclear right now whether the two events are connected. If you have any information about either tragedy, please contact the LSPD. Gang activity is suspected…”

Ryan headed into the kitchen and flipped on the lights, its illumination reaching across the hall to the living room. Jon squeaked and juggled the remote before he found the mute button and jammed it.

“Would you like something to drink?” Ryan said. He kept his voice low, appropriate for how silent the house was, but he knew his voice still carried across the hall. “I’m getting myself a glass of water.”

“S-sure,” Jon said. “Water.”

Ryan grabbed two glasses, filled them up, and took them into the living room. Ryan sat down next to Jon on the couch and set the glasses on the table. Jon was wearing sweatpants that were a bit too long on him, and a soft-looking dark t-shirt.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ryan asked.

“I did for a time,” Jon said, still staring at the TV. Closed captions had popped up, scrolling across the bottom of the screen. “But I woke up and couldn’t… I just was thinking about everything, and wondering when people would be done and back, so I turned on the news.” Jon glanced sidelong at Ryan. “And you?”

“Similar,” Ryan said. He grabbed his glass and took a long drink of water. “Woke up and felt like I was dying. Needed to move around before I try going back to sleep.”

“Ah. And… Ray?”

“I told him to wait. Need to gather my thoughts a bit.”

“I see.” Jon picked at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt. The news anchorwoman had moved on to talk about a mugging, but Ryan knew she would cycle back to the Maze Bank Arena story.

“Honestly…” Jon started.

“Hm?”

Jon sighed. “Honestly… I’m kind of glad you’re up, too. Makes me feel like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how to deal with all of this.”

Ryan couldn’t think of a response. The dust had barely settled, and this was both their first night out of captivity. That realization hit him, suddenly. This was their first night _out._ Ryan knew what the lab coats had done to _him_ , but there were still long stretches of time where he had no idea what Jon had suffered. If Ryan thought the moment was suddenly surreal, he couldn’t imagine how Jon was feeling.

“I also… wanted to talk about it all, without everyone else around,” Jon admitted. “I almost don’t want to say it, like saying it will make it more… real? But otherwise it will just sit on my chest until I can’t breathe. I _died_ , Ryan. I died back there, and it was as easy as falling asleep. Those people tortured me for information, to test on Regs, and I don’t feel any remorse about their deaths. I don’t know if that makes me a bad person. I tried to think, what if they had families? What if they had children? But I just can’t feel bad or guilty about it.”

Jon looked at Ryan fully now. Ryan scrambled for words, but his brain was still trying to process everything, so he just stared.

“Everyone is going to assume you shot Ed,” said Jon. “And I’m fine with that. I don’t need that on my record. But I don’t regret doing it myself. I don’t take it back, and I would do it again. I don’t know if that means I should have remained dead. I don’t know if that means I’m a bad person. I just…” His voice cracked then, and he quickly hid his face from Ryan. He launched to his feet. “I—I think I’m going to go back to bed now.”

“No—Jon, wait.” Ryan leapt to his feet and grabbed Jon’s arm. Jon jolted to a stop, leaning against Ryan’s grip as though he would just keep walking if Ryan let go, and Ryan was barely holding him back. Ryan hesitated. He wanted to find the right thing to say, to make everything better. There didn’t seem to be any words powerful enough. So he just pulled on Jon’s arm, pulled Jon into an embrace. Jon buried his face in Ryan’s chest, and the hands that rose to clutch at Ryan’s shirt shook terribly.

“You’re a good person,” Ryan said honestly. “You’re a far better person than me. You don’t deserve anything that happened.”

“Please don’t leave me alone tonight,” Jon whispered.

Ryan opened his mouth to respond when someone coughed softly from the hall. Ray had come downstairs, and he leaned against the wall. Jon slowly pulled away from Ryan, wiping at his eyes.

“You were taking a long time to get water,” Ray said. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Jon was avoiding looking at either of them, but Ryan glanced at him, then shrugged helplessly at Ray. Ray studied the two of them for a moment. What had he overheard? What was he thinking?

“Wait here,” Ray said, and he turned and headed back up the stairs. Jon turned to watch him go, then met Ryan’s eyes with a quizzical expression. Ryan could only shrug again.

“I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled. “I’m being… go back to Ray. I’m sorry for keeping you down here.”

“Jon, no—you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Footsteps on the stairs announced Ray’s return. He was carrying an armful of blankets and pillows, and could barely see over the top. Ryan bit down a laugh and hurried over to take some pillows before they toppled off the blanket pile.

“What’s this?” Jon asked incredulously.

“Listen,” said Ray. “None of us want to be alone tonight. So get comfy.”

Ray tossed the blankets onto the couch, then went to the TV to crouch in front of it. As Ryan coaxed Jon back to the couch and started arranging the blankets and pillows, Ray pulled up Netflix. Later, Ryan couldn’t even remember what show Ray started playing, but it was some daytime show with a million meaningless episodes. Within a few minutes, the three of them were bundled up in pillows and blankets on the couch while Netflix rambled on half-ignored, the soft chatter filling the silence when they could not.

Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he felt so cozy.

The cold gray dawn was leaking in through the windows by the time they started to doze off. Jon was mostly curled up on his own, buried under blankets, but his feet pressed against Ryan’s leg. Ray cuddled into Ryan’s other side, one arm draped across Ryan’s stomach. Ryan didn’t have the _most_ comfortable position for sleeping, but he was so exhausted he didn’t mind.

It was in this moment, as the gray dawn crept in, that Ray spoke again, half-mumbled after not talking for a while.

“Everyone has a story like this,” he said. He slid his hand up under the blankets, splaying it over the center of Ryan’s chest. “Me. Geoff. Jeremy and the rest. Where things went wrong and only got worse until somehow, barely, we got out. And now you, too. I wish I could have protected you from such a story. But that’s not really possible in a life like this.”

Ryan let his eyes drift shut. Ray’s hand was a hot spot on his chest.

“It was inevitable, then,” Ryan said. “But it could have been much worse. So thank you for being there. I’m glad we’re all still here.”

“Mm…” Ray sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position. “I’ll never let you have another story like this if I can help it,” he said. Ryan’s heart fluttered warmly, a sort of comfort blooming in his core. “I don’t think I say it enough, but… I love you.”

Ryan smiled. It was something he knew, something he felt confidently. He felt in the way Ray checked in on him, in the way Ray tried to protect him, felt it in the forehead kisses and cuddles. And, of course, knew it from how Ray tried to sacrifice himself to bring him back from the edge of death. Ray hadn’t said the three words often, but the message was obvious.

“You say it plenty.”


	40. In Which It's Totally a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last one! Thanks for reading, and for all the kind comments and kudos <3 I can't tell you how much it all means to me! Please enjoy this last chapter.

“Hey.”

Ryan stirred. His eyes did not want to open, as though his lids were sealed with glue. He rolled his stiff neck, shifting under the weight of blankets and Ray.

“Ryan. Hey.”

Ryan finally managed to open his eyes. Ray sighed softly and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Geoff stood in front of the couch. His hair stuck up in all directions, and it was clear that he hadn’t slept yet that night.

“Got a surprise for you in the basement,” Geoff said. Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat forward, careful not to disturb Ray too much. “That guy you wanted?”

Ryan grinned a slow grin. Geoff snorted at his expression. “You actually got Stephens?”

A small noise alerted Ryan to Jon beginning to wake. Geoff nodded. “Owlish guy, with glasses? Sure did. You wanna go take care of him?”

At Geoff’s words, Ryan felt the pull, the urge to stand and seek out Stephens, a dark desire surging, but he hesitated. “I need my mask. I think it was left at the arena…”

Geoff rubbed his face, but he didn’t roll his eyes at Ryan’s requirement. “Look, I get it, but the longer we hold a guy, the harder it is to keep him. Can’t you just magic up an illusion or something until you get a new mask?”

“I guess,” Ryan grumbled. It wouldn’t quite be the same, but…

He reached for his magic, for the ever present humming, only for him to hit a wall. Horror flushed hot up his neck. He tried again, to no avail. It wasn’t like when he was inexperienced, and it danced out of his reach almost teasingly. It was just like when he had the collar on, when he fell short and the magic refused to touch him. He was just tired, he was just…

Geoff’s face changed, watching Ryan. His expression softened, shifting from impatient to concern. Something was wrong.

“I can’t,” Ryan whispered.

“You… can’t?”

Ryan shook his head and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Geoff stepped closer to the couch and grabbed at the blankets, pulling them off of Ray. He dumped the blankets on the floor and shook Ray’s shoulder as Ray groaned in protest.

“Hey, hey,” Geoff said gently. Ryan hung his head, his cheeks burning and his hands clasped over his lap. Jon was fully awake now as well, and was pushing himself up into a sitting position and drawing one of the blankets closer around him.

“What?” Ray mumbled. He rubbed his eyes and looked for his glasses. Geoff snatched them from the coffee table and handed them over. “Hi Geoff.”

“Ryan can’t do magic.”

Ray stilled. “What?”

Geoff nodded at Ryan. Ray stared at Geoff for another moment, blinking, then shifted his position to face Ryan. He cupped Ryan’s chin and made him meet his eyes.

“I… must still be tired,” Ryan said, hoping the panic didn’t show on his face. He resisted the urge to reach up and touch his neck. He thought he could feel the collar’s pressure, like a phantom.

“May I?” Ray asked. Ryan felt Ray’s magic then, like a warmth expanding from his soul. He felt Geoff’s and Jon’s eyes on him like an itch on his skin. Ryan hesitated—a part of him, not insignificant, didn’t want the confirmation. But, he nodded. What was the point in refusing? He closed his eyes as Ray’s magic skirted over his skin, and he listened to it as it probed.

Then Ray let go, and Ryan opened his eyes again. Ray held Ryan’s face in both hands, as though simultaneously holding him there and providing comfort.

“It’s severed,” Ray said. “Your connection to magic is broken. You won’t be able to access it at all.”

Ryan knew it to be true. He wanted to argue, but Ray was only confirming what he wanted to deny. He couldn’t get his shoulders to relax, even as he leaned into Ray’s palm.

“Can you fix it?” Ryan asked. “Heal it?”

Ray looked pained. “Ryan, I…” He broke off, struggling to find the words to say.

Ryan sighed. He didn’t mean to put that on Ray. “No, you don’t have to answer. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon piped up, watching from his corner of the couch.

Ryan forced a smile. “Nah. If I had to sacrifice it to bring you all back, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. But now I really do need a new mask,” he added lightly. The chuckle felt fake, but he tried.

“I’ll send Meg to get you one, but we’ll have to wait until the manhunt cools down,” said Geoff. “I’m not gonna be the idiot who replaces his lost mask the day after the police find the first one. Anyone buying masks in the next few days are gonna get investigated, so until we get a replacement—Ray, can you illusion up a mask for Ryan so he can take care of Stephens?”

“You have Stephens?” Jon asked, his eyebrows drawing together. “Here?”

“Yeah,” Geoff said. “What, do you wanna watch?”

“Jon,” Ryan said darkly, meeting Jon’s eyes. “You do not want to watch.”

Jon studied Ryan’s face for a few moments that seemed to stretch time and nerves. But then he said, “Maybe I do. _He_ watched _me_.”

A chill curled down Ryan’s spine, and he sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He stood and turned to help Ray off the couch. Once up, Ryan leaned into him and planted a kiss against Ray’s hair. “Sorry,” he said with a half-smile. “I keep losing your gifts. The knives, the mask… it’s a miracle I still have the jacket.”

Ray snorted. “Really? Ryan, please, that’s not important right now. It’s fine, we’ll get you new ones.”

Ray took a step back so he could look at Ryan’s face, and reached up to touch both cheeks. His magic brushed over Ryan’s skin like a feather, weaving around his head and solidifying into a black skull. When done, Ray dropped his hands and grinned.

“A perfect replica,” Ray said proudly.

Ryan grinned back, though it was hidden by the skull’s own toothy smile. He turned to Geoff, who watched on passively.

“Now where is Stephens.”

After grabbing his jacket from upstairs, the four of them descended into Meg’s basement, somewhere Ryan had never been before. It was outfitted like a command center, computers and monitors everywhere. Tools of almost every kind were scattered around, and one section seemed to be a mini workshop with a bench and rack of tools. In the back was a cage outfitted with blue light technology, with a toilet and a cot inside. This was where Stephens was held, gagged and with his hands tied behind his back.

Ryan was not proud of what he did in Meg’s basement, but he was not ashamed, either. He fell into the Vagabond’s persona easily, and merely went about his business. At some point, he was pretty sure Jon laughed hysterically at something Stephens had said, had begged, but when asked about it, Ryan was hard pressed to remember any exact details. All he knew for certain was that he walked away satisfied.

* * *

 

The Fakes took the next few days to rest and recuperate. Ryan chiefly spent his time with Ray, Jon, or both at the same time. After the night at Meg’s, Ryan split his nights between his and Ray’s apartments. It took a full week for Meg to speak to Ryan again, and even then it took an intervention from Gavin, Michael, and Lindsay, plus a straight half hour of insults from Meg before she would start forgiving him.

Jon accepted Geoff’s offer. Ryan wasn’t surprised, but he still made Jon wait an extra day or two before officially accepting. The Fakes got him a new apartment in the city, a new phone and laptop, and Ryan returned his camera to him. In return for protection and a sizeable stipend, Jon would pass information along to the Fakes from his media contacts, and occasionally do research if asked.

Around the time the Fakes were preparing to meet with Funhaus again, Jon decided he felt ready to return to work. Ryan walked with him back to the office, and Jon’s reappearance sparked a spontaneous reunion party, with his coworkers coming up and hugging him. It turned out that one of them, Mariel, had gone to the arena to report on the event later, and had seen Jon on the stage. She hadn’t been sure if he had gotten out with the rest of the crowd, hadn’t seen him on the news since and hadn’t been able to reach his phone. Jon gently teased her and the rest of them for worrying, and nodded at Ryan to let him know he would be alright.

A few days after that, Jon published an exposé about Ed Wright, before the city had even had the chance to finish mourning their “delightful philanthropist.” Jon didn’t put his name on it anywhere, didn’t mention the Fakes, but spilled everything unethical that Ed and his researchers had done.

It took a few weeks for Ryan’s nightmares to fade to a manageable frequency, for Ryan’s need to hold onto Ray in the early hours of the morning – so tight Ray had to remind him about breathing – to lessen. It took a few weeks for Jon to stop calling him in the middle of the night, babbling into the phone until his anxiety and fear exhausted him again. It took a few weeks for the Fakes and Funhaus to reach a compromise they were all happy with.

But as the days grew cooler and shorter, Ryan settled into his life again. The hum of magic never went away, never lessened, and some days the distractions needed to be greater, more intense, or else he feared he’d go insane from its whispers. Otherwise, he tried to treasure every day, felt the sun on his skin or the wind in his hair.

 He and Ray planned a date once things settled down. The day was overcast as they headed to the pier. There, the wind off the water was chilly enough that they needed jackets. Ryan was a little sad he couldn’t wear his Vagabond jacket—it was too identifiable, so instead he had a plain black leather jacket. They wandered around for a bit, holding hands, before heading for the Ferris Wheel at the edge of the pier. Once they were in one of the carts and out of the wind, the temperature was almost pleasant.

The cart swung gently as it slowly climbed to the top, and Ray curled up on his seat to look out over the pier. Ryan sat next to him and rested his feet against the opposite seat, and entwined his fingers with Ray’s so that their hands rested between them. Here, he felt comfortable. He rested his head back and let his eyes drift shut, feeling the cart rock.

“Do you think we’ll keep aging?” Ray wondered aloud.

“Guess we’ll find out ten years or so down the road.”

“Mm.”

Ray’s eyes were glued to the ground below, scanning the crowd like a sniper scoping for his target. It reminded Ryan so much of the day at the carnival, a day that felt so long ago. He squeezed Ray’s hand and received a squeeze in return.

The cart started its descent. Ray settled back into his seat, keeping his head turned towards the window, but propping his feet up so he mimicked Ryan’s posture. Ryan scooted closer and leaned in to plant a kiss on Ray’s neck, nuzzling him a bit. Ray giggled and squirmed away as Ryan’s short beard scratched him. Ray lifted Ryan’s hand and kissed his knuckles before jerking his chin at the window, a small smile playing across his lips.

“Jon’s here, by the way,” Ray said.

“Hm?”

“I see him.” Ray lifted his free hand and waved at the window. “Looks like he wants to talk, or something.”

Ryan peered past Ray but didn’t spot Jon until the cart was almost to the ground. He wore a green windbreaker and a dark blue beanie, and he looked miserably cold in the pier’s wind with his hands jammed into his jacket’s pockets. He remained where he stood as Ryan and Ray got off the Ferris Wheel and just watched them approach.

“Hey Jon!” Ryan greeted, grinning. “Everything alright?”

“As good as it has been,” Jon said with a shrug. “Can’t complain.”

“That’s… good to hear?” Ryan cleared his throat. “I’m always glad to see you well.”

Jon sighed and glanced away. “You too.” He nodded at the stairs leading from the pier to the sandy beach below. “Let’s go. I have something to give you.”

Ryan shared a quizzical look with Ray before the three of them descended the stairs. Ryan hesitated at the last step, not looking forward to getting sand in his shoes, but he pushed on when the others didn’t wait for him.

There were a few people hanging out under the pier, a group of teenagers smoking and hiding from the wind. Coming off the choppy waves, the wind was a bit more brutal on the beach than on the pier, coaxing hands into pockets. The occasional jogger still ran along the shore as well.

Jon led the stroll across the cool sand, the wind tugging at their clothes and hair. They walked in a line with Ryan in the center. Ryan hugged Ray close to his side, matching his steps to Ray’s. The sand crunched softly under their feet, shifting and shushing with each step.

“I had a visit from Peake,” Jon said. Ryan sucked in a breath, but Jon shook his head and even chuckled. “I was _not_ happy to see him at first, to say the least. But he’s actually a pretty chill guy. He wanted me to give you something.”

“He did?” Ryan asked. “Why not just…”

Jon tipped his head back and laughed. “He didn’t want to get _shot_ , Ryan.”

Ray cracked up next to Ryan, and his face warmed. “Of course.”

“Here.” Jon withdrew a hand from his pocket and held out a folded cloth case about the size of a book. It clinked when it moved. “He said he held on to them ever since he took them from you.”

Ryan stopped walking to unfold the case, and Jon and Ray stopped too. He stared at it for a few moments, unbelieving as he ran his fingers over it. The cloth case sheathed his throwing knives, tucked into little slots like sleeping children all in a row.

Jon laughed. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t know it was like, your lost dog. Just put it away before someone sees it and worries about it, jeez.”

Ryan gave a sheepish smile in return, and folded the case back up before slipping it into his jacket’s pocket.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. He grinned at Ray, who looped his arm through Ryan’s and leaned into his side. “You know—Ray originally gave me these. Right after I got fired. It feels like forever ago, huh.”

“You fucking know it,” Ray said. “Speaking of Funhaus, though, did you ever manage to track Omar down?”

Jon shook his head and grimaced. “That guy is surprisingly slippery. I’m guessing he’s hiding out with Funhaus up the coast already, so I’m not too worried about him. We _did_ have a new guy start work yesterday. His name’s also Jon, funnily enough, and I think he’s a plant from Funhaus. But I don’t have proof. Probably gonna keep an eye on things there anyway.”

Ray sighed and waved his hand. “Ah, that’s fine. Kind of expected Funhaus would try to keep someone here for intel—it’s not like we’re not doing the same thing. Just keep an eye on him and don’t try to confront him or anything, yeah.”

“Roger,” said Jon, giving Ray a little salute. “Anyway, sorry for interrupting your date. I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Nah, man,” said Ray. “Always a pleasure.”

Jon grinned. “Catch you later!” He lifted his hand in farewell and separated from the two of them, heading towards the nearest set of stairs that lead back up to the road. Ray and Ryan stayed on the beach a while longer, watching him go.

“I think he’ll be a good addition,” Ray said.

“Hm?”

“Jon. I’m glad Geoff offered him a job. The alternative would have been really hard for both of you, if those 4 a.m. phone calls are any indication.” Ray gave him a sly glance.

“Heh, yeah.” Ryan blushed. He angled his face into the wind coming off the choppy waves and let his eyes drift shut. A sigh from Ray made him open his eyes again, to see Ray had sat down on the sand. Ray gestured to the space next to him.

“Join me. I’m cold,” Ray said.

Ryan snorted and lowered himself to the ground. Ray scooted closer and leaned into Ryan’s side, pressing his shoulder against Ryan’s. Ryan rested his head against Ray’s and closed his eyes again. For a time they were quiet. Ryan focused on the sensations around him, on the warm point of contact with Ray, on the chill wind raking through his hair, the cold sand grating against his palms, on the waves crashing against the shore. He felt himself drifting, coasting pleasantly outside of time. It was times like this where he couldn’t hear the magic constantly calling—all he heard was the power of the world around him.

Ray touched his temple, drew his fingers through Ryan’s tangled locks. “Your hair’s getting long,” he said.

Ryan shifted to better rest against Ray. “Mm, yeah, I guess I haven’t gotten it cut recently. I should really go do that.”

“Nah,” said Ray. His fingers felt good against Ryan’s scalp. “I kind of want to see what it looks like long. Maybe long enough to fit in a ponytail.”

“Heh, if you insist.”

Ray stopped stroking Ryan’s hair and settled back. He curled up against the wind, pressing more of his body against Ryan’s. Ryan’s heart felt warm, his very soul cozy, and he tilted his face to plant a kiss against Ray’s hair. Ray sighed, reaching for Ryan’s hand and entwining his fingers.

“I want to kiss you,” Ray mumbled.

Ryan laughed and bumped his shoulder against Ray’s. “Then kiss me!”

And so he did. Ray lifted his hands towards Ryan’s face and pulled him closer. He leaned into Ryan, sinking into the kiss and coaxing them both down to lay on the sand. Ray practically draped himself over Ryan, as the wind tugged at their clothes and sand dug into their hair. Ryan held him at his waist, careful not to go too low but keeping Ray close. The chill of the sand seeped into his back, but the warmth of Ray’s body seeped into his chest.

Then Ray stopped, hesitated, pulled back slightly. Ryan stared up at him, at those shy dark eyes.

“What?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t… uh…” Ray blushed deeply and glanced away. “I’m sorry—I don’t want to—lead you on? Fuck, sorry, forget I—forget I said anything.”

Ryan pursed his lips. Ray tried to back up more, but Ryan held on to his waist, and the gentle pressure kept Ray there.

“I know what to expect,” Ryan said, “and I don’t expect anything you’re not willing to give. If there’s ever a real problem, we’ll talk about it like adults. Right now, you’re not doing anything wrong. Okay?”

Ray laughed a short, breathy laugh. He ducked his head, hiding his face against Ryan’s chest. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re right.”

Ryan sat up, letting Ray scoot back to give him space. He lifted a hand to Ray’s hair, holding him in place as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ray’s forehead. He felt Ray relax under his touch. Ryan felt like he was glowing, and he was grinning as he stood up and offered his hand to Ray.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home, and get out of this wind.”

Ray took his hand and allowed Ryan to hoist him up. Ryan looped his arm through Ray’s, keeping him close to his side as they trudged through the sand. He knew what he had, and he couldn’t be happier. With every step, with every sway that he purposefully bumped into Ray, with every smile and laugh, he tried to communicate that. And with every reciprocated bump, every returned smile, he knew Ray heard it.

The day was edging on chilly, yet Ryan felt nothing but warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a playlist of songs that remind me in some form of this story! drakanin.tumblr.com/post/174727238785/to-me-the-world-a-playlist-run-time  
> Enjoy! And thanks <3 Hopefully this ending was satisfying. :* Now keep an eye out for my next story! ;)


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